What next?
by Eliza Castle
Summary: The Turner family shortly after Will's return from his ten year obligation aboard the Flying Dutchman.
1. The Chest

Something startled Elizabeth awake. Some sound, but what was it? She lifted her head and glanced toward the bedroom window then the French doors leading out onto the small balcony. The heavy brocade draperies that normally covered them were still open having been overlooked in the heat of the moment the evening before. It was still too early for there to be people out and about on the docks so that was not what had awakened her, but sunrise couldn't be far off. There was just enough ambient light in the room that she could make out a few details of her surroundings.

She lifted her head slightly, listening to see if possibly her son had called out to her in his sleep, but she heard nothing except her husband's quiet breathing. She sat the rest of the way up and scanned the room, she could barely discern the various articles of clothing scattered about the floor near the bed. Her face flushed as she smiled recalling her and Will's cautious, but eager reunion. Their ten year separation had done nothing to cool their passion for each other, but had neither had it erased all the awkwardness of their relative inexperience. Neither Will nor Elizabeth were renowned for their patience, but they finally had earned the luxury of unlimited time, so for this first night back together they had taken things slowly, fully enjoying every second as they reacquainted themselves with each other body, mind and soul. Her eyes continued to peruse the room, finally focusing on the small wooden chest resting atop the trunk at the foot of the bed. Perhaps what had awakened her was not something she heard, but rather something she didn't hear? She was accustomed to the chest being on the bedside table where she could listen to the reassuring sound of Will's heart beating when she needed to, but he had insisted on moving it when he had returned just that evening. Not that she blamed him at all, but it was going to take a while for her to adjust to how things were changing.

The thought of what had already changed in less than 12 hours made her smile again as she glanced down at her sleeping husband. He looked so calm and peaceful with no trace of the ordeals they had been though showing on his face. It occurred to her that although she and Will had known each other for twenty years and had been married for the last ten that she had never had the opportunity to just watch him sleep. She had spent countless hours watching over their son as he slept and until that moment she hadn't realized exactly how much he looked like his father, the same tousled curly brown hair, the long eyelashes and even his ears.

Unable to hear or see anything out of the ordinary Elizabeth decided that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She lay back down, settled her cheek on Will's chest, and closed her eyes. Elizabeth smiled to herself again as Will shifted slightly to pull her in closer. He was back. It had been a long and emotionally draining trial for them, but he was finally back - to stay - with Elizabeth _and_ their son. There was so much for them to talk about, but that would have to wait. Right now she was tired and quite content to stay exactly where she was, lying next to the man she had loved and who had loved her in return since they were both twelve years old. She had almost drifted off back to sleep when she realized what had awakened her.

"Will" Elizabeth said softly, but somewhat startled as she sat up bolt right in the bed. "Will, wake UP!" she said with much more urgency, but still trying to keep her voice down as she reached down to shake him.

Will Turner slowly opened his eyes as he blearily looked up at his wife. "What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked. He tried to sit up, but Elizabeth placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back down on to the bed. A slow grin appeared on his face as he considered possible reasons for his wife to wake him, but quickly faded as he realized that Elizabeth looked decidedly frightened. In fact, she was trembling slightly as she stared back at him with a confused look. Will's brown eyes opened wide as it occurred to him what had startled her. In fact, it startled him too. "I" he started, "I feel it" he said, his voice cracking slightly. Wary smiles crept across both their faces as they stared at each other, speechless, for a long moment.

"How?" Elizabeth asked, still somewhat confused and obviously distressed.

"I don't know," Will replied as he finally managed to sit up and put his own hand where his heart should be and, in fact, was. "But it's there. I can feel it." He looked from Elizabeth to the chest at the foot of their bed and swallowed nervously. The most obvious answer to the question was to open it and see if indeed his heart had been returned to its proper place, but the fear that he could be mistaken and that it was still under lock and key made him a bit leery to open the chest to see. Although the _Flying Dutchman_ required a living heart, Will believed that it was no longer compulsory for the Captain's heart to be concealed within the chest. If his own heart was no longer in the chest, what _was_ in there? Looking back at his wife he noticed tears starting to well in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. "Elizabeth," he breathed as he reached up to gently brush away her tears with his thumb, "everything will be fine." "I'm not leaving again" he said, with unwavering determination, trying to reassure her and at the same time, himself.

Elizabeth looked from Will to the chest then back again, and closed her eyes while simultaneously hoping they were right, yet fearing that it all might be a dream. "I suppose we're just going to have to take a look see," Will said with false bravado as he moved towards the chest. Elizabeth didn't know if she should be relieved or terrified. Relieved that for the first time in ten years Will was there to make a decision when she couldn't and terrified that his heart would indeed still be locked in the chest.

Will grasped the handles on either side of the chest and gingerly turned it so that the lock faced him and Elizabeth. After a short hesitation he picked up it and set it on the bed between them. Elizabeth still sat motionless with her eyes tightly closed.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I need the key." She didn't move. "Elizabeth," he said only slightly louder, for fear of waking young Will, but with a tad more urgency. "I _**need **_the key."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and met Will's. The she turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood up and stepped over to the bedside table. Remembering a time from so long ago when she had done much the same thing with Will's medallion, she eased open the drawer and extracted the key from it's hiding place beneath the false bottom. Until that previous morning, she had always worn it on a cord around her neck, but somehow she hadn't wanted to wear on that particular day. She no longer needed a reminder of her part in breaking Davy Jones' curse. She turned back around to face Will and offered him the key. Taking a deep breath he took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock.

"Will," Elizabeth whispered, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not, but how else can we be sure?" he replied quietly, sounding entirely too serious. The tone of his voice caused Elizabeth more than a little concern. She couldn't bring herself to consider the possibility that Will might not yet be entirely free.

Elizabeth crawled back into the bed, moved closer to him and kissed him lightly on his bare shoulder and softly said, "I love you, Will Turner and no matter what may or may not be in that chest won't change that."

Will turned towards Elizabeth, smiled, and then gave her a quick kiss in return. He knew Elizabeth loved him; of that he had no doubt. Were not their last ten years spent apart proof of that? Nonetheless, it was reassuring to hear her say it. "Shall we?" he asked as he faced back towards the chest. Will reached for the cold, metal key and twisted it in the lock. He winced when he heard the faint click of the lock being released. Ever so cautiously he reached forward and lifted the lid to find - nothing. The chest was empty. That could only mean one thing. His heart, which his father had cut out of his chest ten years prior in an effort to keep Will from dying, was now back where it belonged. But how was that possible?

Elizabeth looked up and jumped as she let out a small cry. Will inhaled sharply as he too looked up and saw what or rather _**who**_ had frightened his wife. Standing in the pale light of near dawn was Tia Dalma -Calypso, looking exactly as she had when they had first seen her. The blue black teeth were visible through her smiling black stained lips, the tattoos on her face faintly visible. She was even wearing the music box locket that had connected her to Davy Jones. How long had the sea goddess been there? _How_ did she get there? Will and Elizabeth both drew back slightly as Calypso took a step towards them and began to speak.

"William Turner" she said slowly in her thick Jamaican accent "You had a touch of destiny about you, but now you have fulfilled your duties to the Dutchman and found your one true love waiting for you. You gave her your heart and in return she kept it safe and gave you hers." Her voice then took on a tone of extreme sadness "if my Davy had not cut out him own heart to spite me, we would be together now roaming the seas forever. She angrily added, "It was not my intention that another man should suffer him fate." She paused for a moment before continuing. "It be the least I can do to give you back your own heart and make sure it stay." As she spoke she stepped closer and raised her palm towards Will's chest. Her hand glowed briefly with an eerie blue white light and then faded quickly away. And then she and the chest were gone, leaving husband and wife to wonder if they had dreamed the entire thing.

The first rays of the morning sun were creeping in the window as Will and Elizabeth sat side by side on their bed in stunned silence. Neither of them knew what to say. To anyone else the entire episode would be chalked up to an over active imagination or even a bad dream, but the Turners had seen far more mysterious things in their lives.

"Will, what just happened?" Elizabeth managed to squeak out.

"I'm," he hesitated as he glanced down, "I'm not sure" he answered, suddenly sounding slightly bewildered.

He reached his right hand up to once again feel his own heart beating and noticed a change.

"Elizabeth, it's not there, the scar, I mean. It's gone."

"Gone?" came her still somewhat confused reply.

"Yes, gone, Look!" He said incredulously as he turned his body towards her.

Elizabeth turned to face Will while reaching up to put her hand over his heart. She could feel its strong, rhythmic beat beneath her hand. He was right. There was no sign that there had ever been a scar on Will's chest. It was difficult to fathom that the once angry red scar that was still so vivid in her memory had vanished, but it had.

Will put his hands on either side of Elizabeth's face, leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. Elizabeth returned the kiss eagerly while sliding her right hand up from Will's chest to the back of his neck and pulled him in towards her, catching him off guard and causing him to lose his balance. . They both began laughing as they tumbled back onto the bed. Will pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled down at the woman lying beneath him. He reached over and tenderly brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

"So, Mrs. Turner, how shall we mark this momentous occasion?" he murmured as he lowered his head to kiss her yet again. Elizabeth didn't speak, but her response made it clear exactly what she had in mind.


	2. Impatience

The first rays of dawn were just beginning to peek around the edges of the shuttered windows as nine year old William Turner looked up at them and contemplated getting out of bed. He was quite sure that, by his mother's standards, it was still too early to be up, but he couldn't sleep. The anticipation of spending his first full day ever with his father was almost more excitement than he could bear. His own impatience won out as he threw back the covers and inched out of the narrow bed. His best clothes, which he had worn the previous day, were folded neatly on the chair in front of the small writing desk. Will stepped carefully across the room, picked them up, and quickly dressed, not taking the time to tuck in his shirt nor to put on his shoes. The door to his tiny room was already slightly ajar as he ever so cautiously pushed it open a bit further. He held his breath for a brief moment at the ear piercing metallic shriek of the door hinges. Although the sound was probably no where near the volume that Will thought, he was indeed convinced that his mother's sole reason for not having those very same hinges oiled was so that she could hear him if he snuck out of his room in the middle of the night. While no one could ever accuse Elizabeth Swann-Turner of being a smothering parent, she was quite protective of her only child and while Will was certainly not a bad child, mischief seemed to have a way of finding him.

Will stuck his head into the hallway and listened for any sign that he had awakened his parents, halfway wishing that at least his father had awoken, but that was apparently not the case. The house was completely silent as he stepped out of the room and worked his way down the hall, past the other two rooms, between his own and that of his parents, to the top of the stairs. Once there, he stopped, looked towards the closed door of his parent's room and listened to see if they were awake. Hearing nothing, he started down the steps, counting as he went. One…two…..three…..four, then taking one large step down onto the sixth riser. If the squeaky door didn't wake his mother up, then loud creak that the fifth step surely would. Pausing again to listen and again hearing nothing, Will began to wonder if his parents were even in the house. He had never managed to get this far before without his mother catching him and sending him back to his room. Why was it that the one time he _wanted _someone to wake up to catch him, no one did? Standing on the staircase, his face clearly showing his disappointment, Will considered what to do next. For one fleeting moment, he thought about stepping back up on the creaky step to see if anyone stirred, but the thrill of finally outwitting his mother won over and he completed his descent.

Now at the foot of the stairs, he glanced towards the heavy oak door that led into the offices of Turner-Castillo Shipping. That was one door he was positive was locked and was not even tempted to open. If there was one rule that his mother had that Will feared to break, it was the one about staying out of the office. He was old enough to understand some of the merchants and ship's captains that his mother did business with were of questionable integrity, but didn't understand why she was so concerned that none of them see or talk to him. Everyone in Port Royal knew the Turner boy. He was, after all, the grandson of the former Governor. Then again, he was also the only child of the Pirate King and the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman. _While that tidbit of information was not common knowledge, much less discussed, among the upper echelon of Port Royal society, it was a source of unending speculation among the seafaring community. For as long as he could remember, Will had known of the unusual circumstances of his lineage, but had never really put much thought into it. Just being an ordinary nine year old boy was enough to keep him occupied.

Casting one last look up the staircase, Will proceeded through what served as the family's dining room and slipped out the side door into the breezeway that lead to the cook house. He wondered if Mrs. Lansford, the slightly plump, grandmotherly cook, had arrived yet to start her day's work. It never failed that Will was able to talk the kindly woman out of some treat he mostly likely shouldn't have. He hoped today would be no exception, but to his great disappointment he realized that the kitchens were empty. The well worn table in the center of the room was completely barren. He wasn't quite tall enough to see on top of the swinging plank suspended high above his head to see if there was anything there. Will dejectedly sat down on a small stool, put his elbows on the table, rested his head in his small hands and pondered the situation. How could he have forgotten that his mother had given the small staff that worked for the family an extra day off? Elizabeth hadn't explained to them what the occasion was, but had shared with her son her desire to spend their first real day as a family with just the three of them - and no one else. He supposed that a day off from his lessons with the taciturn Mr. Tolliver wasn't such a bad thing, but he would miss Evan and Mercedes. However, his greatest concern was what they were going to eat. Elizabeth Turner could match blades with the fiercest pirate, she was a ruthless business woman and could outwit the most astute naval officer when it came to military strategy, but she could not cook. She didn't even try.

If nothing else, Will was one very resourceful little boy. He stood up, climbed on top of the table, grasped the edge of the hanging board, pulled himself up and peered over the edge. He nearly lost his balance and fell as the board suddenly began to swing. Now he understood why the rats and other vermin avoided it. It certainly wasn't the easiest place to get to. But he was hungry and determined. A quick survey identified at least two loaves of bread, a cured ham, and a small wheel of cheese within his grasp. Mrs. Lansford hadn't let him down. Standing on the tips of his toes so that he could reach just a bit further, Will dragged the makings of his breakfast as close to the edge as he could before he began to pull them down to put them on the table. The loaf of bread was easy, the ham proved to be a bit more of a challenge, but the cheese was nearly his undoing. As he grasped the wheel with both hands and tugged he leaned just a little too far forward, lost his balance, overcorrected, and fell. Will sat down hard on the table, losing his grip on his prize, allowing it to fall, and roll across the floor. His eyes followed the pale yellow wheel's progress across the room before it finally rolled to a stop in the midst of the ashes in the fireplace. Sighing, he hopped down from the table and padded across the room to retrieve his wayward and now quite dusty fare. Will picked up the cheese and pointlessly tried to brush off the worst of the debris. He gave up, put it back on the table next to the bread and ham and decided that perhaps he should at least try to wash it off before he ate some of it. Besides, he was thirsty too, now that he thought about it.

Although Will was a strong for his size, he had inherited his parent's slender builds. The temperamental pump the family normally used to draw water was too heavy for Will to manage. Had Evan been there, that would be one of his jobs, but he wasn't. That meant going to the well, yet another off limits destination, and all because he always seemed to accidentally drop something in it while he was there. If he were very careful, his mother would never know now would she?

Will stepped out the door opposite the one he had entered and into the bright sunshine of a typical Caribbean morning. He glanced up at the second story windows of the house. The shutters to his room were still closed which meant no one had been in there yet. He was sure that if his mother were awake she would have opened them as she insisted on as much light being allowed in as possible. The house was never completely dark, even at night. There wasn't a single day that Will couldn't remember hearing Mrs. Lansford warn his mother about leaving some of the oil lamps burn all night, sure that she would arrive one morning and discover naught but a smoldering pile of ashes where the house had stood. Elizabeth listened, but as always, she did as she pleased. Very few things, if any got in her way.

As he made his way towards the well, Will noted the blue, cloudless sky above. It was still late May, but it was already significantly hotter than usual. With no lessons to worry about that day, he wondered if his father would be willing to take him on an outing. His eyes lit up at the thought of his father taking him on jaunt up the Hope River. _Maybe_ he would even start teaching his son to sail. Will suddenly frowned at the very idea of asking his father, the most recent captain of the legendary _Flying Dutchman; _the man responsible for ferrying souls lost at sea to the other side, to humor the whims of one small boy by taking a dinghy up a river of all things. He had, after all, sailed the seven seas in both this world and the one beyond. At very least they could go fishing, or maybe even swimming in the bay. He knew from his mother's tales of their adventures together that the elder Will Turner knew how to swim -and swim quite well at that. He briefly considered asking to go back to the beach, where they had been reunited with his father the evening before, but he knew that no matter how many times he asked, pleaded or begged, his mother would not allow him to swim in the open water. She wasn't overly fond of his swimming in the protected bay, but it was the best compromise Will could manage. It wasn't as if he had sailed numerous times in his young life, but she was adamant about him staying out of the ocean waves. He knew she must have a reason, but she had never shared it with him. Sometimes it was easier to just do what she asked and not question things. He was curious if his father would prove more forthcoming with explanations for some of his mother's unusual rules and restrictions. Actually, there were numerous things about his father that he was curious about, but there was now plenty of time for questions that had long remained unanswered for the small boy. Despite the countless times his mother had told him to practice patience, he didn't think he would be able to anytime soon.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Will pushed the cover off the well, unwound the rope and dropped the bucket into the water below. It seemed to take an eternity before he heard it splash. Now for the hard part -he had forgotten how heavy the bucket was when it was full. He put all his weight into turning the crank to return the pail back to its original position. The next problem was to remove it from the metal hook and lug it back to the kitchen. Will hoisted himself up onto the edge of the well, wrapped one arm around the support post and leaned out to grasp the now full bucket of water. It was at times like this that he was grateful that Evan was around to take care of jobs such as this. He made everything look so easy, and frequently kept Will from getting into more trouble than he already was. As he pulled the bucket back towards himself, he cautiously balanced it on the low stone rim and wondered what Evan, Mercedes, Mrs. Lansford, and even Mr. Tolliver were going to think when they returned. He was well aware, that no matter how much his mother insisted that her husband was merely away at sea, that most everyone believed him dead - but Will knew better. Some of his earliest memories included the sound of his father's heart beating from within the chest his mother guarded so carefully. Although he had no memory of being specifically instructed to keep the chest and its contents a secret, he had always instinctively known to do so. Besides, who would believe a tale such as that, anyway?

The trek back to the kitchen was mostly uneventful, barring the inevitable sloshing of water out of the overly full bucket onto his clothes and bare feet. So intent was Will on his quest that he didn't notice the muddy footprints he left on the floor as he re-entered the kitchen nor did he notice what was missing. What he _did_ notice was Brigand, the family's overly large and furry black dog, lying in the doorway closest to the main house, gnawing on what could only have been the remains of the ham. No one knew what kind of dog Brigand was or where he came from. He had just appeared one day nearly three years earlier shortly after Will and his mother had returned to live in Port Royal. Elizabeth hadn't wanted to keep him, but Will had begged and pleaded until she relented. It had proven to be a wise decision on her part as the canine had turned out to be extremely protective of his young master. However, Brigand's owner was a bit distraught with him at the moment. Will knew better than to leave any food out where the dog could get it - a fact that his mother would be sure to remind him of when she found out. He stared crossly at the dog, but quickly determined there was nothing much left to salvage. There was no way he was going to get out of getting scolded today and it wasn't even noon yet.

Will turned and surveyed the damage to the room and realized that he was going to have to do some serious cleaning up and _fast_ before his mother found the mess he had created. For one brief second, he considered starting right in on the task. But then his stomach growled and he remembered what he had been doing in the first place. No growing boy in his right mind would put cleaning up after himself before eating and Will was no exception. He quickly rinsed off the cheese, which had fortuitously escaped Brigand's attention, cut off a chunk with a knife he found in the cupboard, pulled apart one of the loaves of bread, and headed back out into the courtyard with his makeshift meal.

Another glance back towards the house still showed no signs of anyone else being up and about. Will was beginning to get impatient. He had waited his entire life to meet his father, and now on his first day back, he and Will's mother had decided to sleep in? Didn't they know how anxious he was? Will heaved a heavy sigh as he realized there was nothing he could do but wait. He walked over to the large oak tree at the corner of the compound, sat down, began to eat his bread and cheese and think. The roots of the massive tree formed a small nook at its base. It was the prefect place for a small boy to go when he needed to be alone or needed some time to just use his imagination. His mother would sometimes come and just sit quietly with him when she sensed something amiss. On more than one occasion she had commented on what a quietly intense boy he was, and how much that reminded her of his father. His _father_; it seemed so odd to think of him as a living, breathing person and not just someone in the stories his mother told him. His brow furrowed as he thought about how things would change now that the middle William Turner was back. For as long as he could remember, he had been waiting for this day, but now that it was here he was a bit wary of the stranger who had come back to live with them. What was he like? His mother made him sound very noble and heroic, but was he still like that? He knew that the man who had come ashore to meet them both looked and sounded like the apparition of his father he had frequently dreamed of but was that just wishful thinking on his part? He had always believed that his father truly appeared to him in his sleep, but no one other than his mother ever believed that. Will's biggest unvoiced fear was that the man upstairs sleeping next to his mother had come back for the sole purpose of being her husband, only to discover an unknown, and perhaps unwanted, addition to his family. It wasn't like there was much of a choice, but did he even want to be a _father? _What _if_…?

Will couldn't finish the thought for the fear it caused him, but instead closed his eyes and scrunched down further in his hiding place. Before very many minutes had passed, the young boy was fast asleep – dreaming of the multitude of untold adventures that awaited the Turner family - _together. _


	3. Adjustments

It was already late morning the next time the elder Will Turner woke up. The bright sunlight streaming through the unshuttered windows and French doors attested to that. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the brightness while he wondered if he had ever actually slept this late before in his entire life. For the past ten years he had only slept in bits and snatches when he could, as ferrying the souls of those lost at sea to the land of the dead was not exactly the kind of job that had regular hours. Before that he had been apprenticed to Mr. Brown, Port Royal's blacksmith, and had had to be up and moving before dawn. And no matter how much pride he had taken in his work, he hadn't much enjoyed working by the blazing forge in the full heat of day. Besides, afternoons were always better spent in Elizabeth's company.

Elizabeth, his wife, was the sole reason he was still alive. Will had lost count of how many times she had literally saved his life; from that first time she spotted him floating in the water amidst the wreckage of the _Princess_, to her willingness to wait for him to complete his ten year duty aboard the _Flying Dutchman. _Granted, Jack Sparrow was the one who had helped Will to stab the heart of Davy Jones, thereby giving up his own chance at immortality, but Will couldn't have,_ wouldn't_ have done so had he not be secure in his belief that Elizabeth loved him above all others. He had taken that chance and in the end, it had been worth it.

As he turned his head on the pillow to look at her, he tried to count the number of times she had literally saved his life, from the time she had spotted him floating amidst the debris of a shipwreck when they were twelve years old, until the previous afternoon when her presence alone on the beach had severed his ties with the _Flying Dutchman, _thereby enabling him to return to land and a life with her and their son. Elizabeth was lying on her right side facing Will, still quite fast asleep. Her long dark blonde hair covered part of her face. Will was tempted to gently brush it away so that he could see her clearly, but resisted. It was better to let her sleep. He knew that she had had a long day and an even longer night - neither of them had slept very much, between some long overdue alone time and other unexpected events. Not everyone received heathen sea goddesses as uninvited guests in their bedrooms in the middle of the night. But not everyone had had the experiences that Will and Elizabeth Turner had.

Will pulled himself upright and leaned back against the pillows. As he did so, Elizabeth stirred and murmured something in her sleep, but did not wake up. He unconsciously reached up and lightly touched where the scar over his heart had been as he looked towards the now empty space at the foot of the bed, where the chest had been, just hours before. He was relieved to find that both were still gone and that he could feel his heart beating strongly inside his chest. His eyes surveyed the room, taking in the heavy furniture and the sheer amount of open space. He knew that the room wasn't overly large by Elizabeth's standards, with her having been raised in the Governor's mansion, and it certainly wasn't as spacious as the suite of rooms he and Elizabeth were to have shared after their marriage but for Will it was more room to call his own than he had ever had. As a small child growing up in England, he and his mother had lived at the home of one of London's more prominent merchants, where she had been the housekeeper. He had slept on a pallet next to the hearth for as long as he could remember. It hadn't been a bad life. They had food, shelter, clothing, and even the opportunity for schooling, but he had always longed for something more. Then his mother had sickened and died, leaving her then eleven-year old son to strike out on his own to find a father he barely knew and would hardly have recognized.

His thoughts then drifted forward to his arrival in Port Royal. Elizabeth's father, Governor Swann, had been kind enough to arrange for Will's apprenticeship as a blacksmith. At the smithy, he had had his own room really not much more than a cell, but it was his home. He could vividly recall the details of the tiny space: the cot along one wall, a small chest where he kept his one suit of nice clothing, a small table with a pitcher and basin where he could wash. There had been one small shuttered window where he could look out and just barely make out the Governor's mansion in the distance. He smiled as he remembered all the times he had stared out that window and thought of Elizabeth, never once expecting that one day she would be his.

Then, the memory of that last morning he had awakened in that room came unbidden into his mind. It was to have been his and Elizabeth's wedding day, but Lord Cutler Beckett had arrived and set them on a path that would lead to his death and their tragic ten year separation. The sudden rush of anger he felt, as he recalled the diminutive agent of the East India Trading Company, took him by surprise. Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, he reminded himself that part of his life was over and done with. Beckett was dead, the curse had been broken and he was back where he had always belonged: by Elizabeth's side, ready to face whatever ordeals or adventures came their way next.

Will felt Elizabeth stir and turned his head to her once more. This time she was awake. He was awestruck by how little she had changed since they had last been together. There were, perhaps, a few small lines around her eyes, and although still quite slender, she had developed a few more womanly curves, - a fact he had joyfully discovered not but a few hours earlier.

"Good morning, Captain Turner" she said a faint smile showing on her lips.

"Good morning to you to, Captain Swann" he replied with a laugh as he leaned in to kiss her. "Might I also add that you look positively ravished this morning?"

Elizabeth met his kiss "That would be _Mrs_. Captain Turner, and I think you mean ravish_ing_."

"No," he responded between kisses. "I meant ravished."

"Will…" she retorted in mock exasperation as she eagerly reciprocated his advances. "WILL!" she suddenly blurted out, in a slightly panicked voice as she pulled back from her husband, sat up, and began rummaging through the rumpled bedclothes, searching for her shift, her nightdress, Will's shirt - _anything_ to put on.

"Yes?" he asked, his confusion showing on his face.

"NO!" was her curt reply.

"What?" Will was more confused than before. It was clearly evident from his expression.

"Not _you_!" Elizabeth said to him, as if he had taken complete leave of his senses.

The realization, as to what has caused Elizabeth's frenzy to get out of bed, suddenly dawned on him. How could he have forgotten? Somewhere in the house was an unattended nine year old boy - A boy that by his own mother's account had a knack for getting into mischief. While Will had known for several years that he and Elizabeth had a son, the idea of being a father and the reality of it were somewhat different. Will sat in stunned silence for a moment, not knowing what to do as he watched his wife continue her frantic search. Noticing her shift puddled in the floor on his side of the bed, he reached down, picked it up and handed it to her with a sly grin, while still making no effort of his own to get out of the bed. He just sat there, bare-chested with the sheets bunched around his waist, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world, gazing off into the distance.

Elizabeth gifted her husband with a lascivious glance as she accepted the proffered garment; stood up and pulled it over her head "Will, you need to get dressed," his wife suggested gently, and then lightly laughed as she noticed her husband's slightly startled reaction to the sound of her voice. In just that brief moment something else had caught his attention. Elizabeth frowned slightly.

"Could you…" he hesitated slightly, "hand me my clothes?"

Elizabeth retrieved the shirt and breeches in question from where they had been hastily discarded the night before, stood at the foot of the bed and dangled them just out of his reach. "You mean these?' she said seductively. Will didn't respond. Elizabeth tilted her head and observed his expression closely. What she saw didn't worry her, but did cause her some concern. Whatever was on his mind apparently commanded his complete attention. Opting to leave Will to his silent contemplation, Elizabeth turned, walked over to the mirror and looked at her reflection in the glass. Will was right, she _did_ look ravished. Picking up her silver-backed brush, she began to tame her dark blond mane into some semblance of order, but quickly surrendered and compromised with a braid. She could see Will's reflection in the mirror as he stood up, his back towards her, and began dressing. Elizabeth started at the sight of the pale, twisted, rope-like scars criss-crossing his back. She knew they were there and had traced their patterns with her fingers, but seeing them still distressed her. As if sensing her discomfort, Will quickly pulled his shirt over his head, hiding the scars from view.

Elizabeth finished with her hair, walked to the armoire, selected an informal smock and slippers for the day, dressed and turned back to face her husband. She noted that he, too, looked somewhat ravished with his long dark locks hanging unbound, spilling over his broad shoulders. She also noticed that he hadn't moved from his place next to the bed, he stood there, stock still, apparently gazing out the window. Something was bothering him; she had an idea what, but didn't know how to broach the subject. "Will?" she called softly, as she crossed the room to him.

"Hmmm?" he murmured, looking as if he had just realized where he was.

"What's wrong?"

Will swallowed hard and looked into his wife's eyes. "I'm afraid."

"_Afraid?" _The Will Turner that she knew was practically fearless, but something had this man worried. "What could there possibly be for you to be afraid of now?"

"What if he resents me for leaving you both for so long?" This was the fear that had been nagging him for the last year of his duty to the _Dutchman. _Somehow saying it out loud only increased his apprehension.

Elizabeth was right: she knew their son both anticipated and was anxious about finally meeting his father. It was no surprise to her that _his father_ would feel the same way about meeting _him_. "Will," she sighed as she put her hands on either side of his face, "He knows _and_ understands what happened and why you left. You're his hero. He _loves_ you. Things might be awkward for a while, but it will all work out. Trust me. You'll see."

"I do trust you," a smile creeping across his face as he reached out for her, "but I don't know how to be a father. I don't even know where to begin."

"There aren't any rules; besides, they would be more like guidelines anyway." she said, with a glint in her eye.

Will laughed out loud, as Elizabeth took his hand and started to lead him out of the room. Just a few steps shy of the door, Will halted, spun his wife around and enveloped her in a passionate embrace. "I love you" he whispered softly in her ear.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at her husband, stretched up, kissed him and winked. "I know, but I'll never tire of hearing you say it."

Will laughed again as he released her and continued out the door, hand in hand, with his wife. Elizabeth cast a glance towards their son's bedroom, noticed the open door and quickly deduced that he was not in there. She had no idea how late it actually was, but she knew her son wasn't one for staying in bed when there were adventures to be had. Hopefully, none of today's unsupervised exploits were too terribly damaging.

As Elizabeth led Will down the stairs, through the house, towards the back, he tried to take in as much as possible. It had been full dark by the time they arrived home the night before so he hadn't noticed many details. _Home – _he liked the sound of that, and eagerly anticipated readjusting to life among the living; but last night, he and Elizabeth had been more concerned with tucking their sleeping son into his bed and continuing to reacquaint themselves with each other. Now that it was daylight, he marveled at how bright, open and airy the house was: quite unlike the dark, cramped spaces he had grown accustomed to during his years at sea The heavy, closed, and most likely locked, door leading to the side of the house facing the street did pique his interest, but that could wait. He had far more important matters to attend to at the moment.

The oppressive heat and humidity of the late morning sun swathed the pair as they exited the house and made their way to the kitchen. Elizabeth stopped in the doorway, shook her head and sighed. Will leaned around her to peer into the enclosed space. His eyes widened as he surveyed the room. What he saw was a scene of destruction that couldn't possibly have been made by one small boy, but apparently had been.

Elizabeth glanced at her husband. "He's _your_ son."

Will raised an eyebrow. "And thus far, _you've _raised him" he commented, as if to detach himself from any blame. "Where is he?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in a gesture vaguely reminiscent of the cantankerous Captain Barbossa. "I may not know all of his hiding places – _yet - _but I know where he goes when he needs to think or knows he's about to be scolded. That should narrow the search." She then traversed the kitchen, stepped out the far door, and headed for a majestic oak tree a short distance from the house, with Will following close behind. There, in the sheltered cavity at the base of the tree was the child in question, curled up, sleeping, with his head resting on a monstrous black dog.

"_What_is that?" Will blurted out. At the sound of his voice, the dog picked up his head, barred his teeth and emitted a low growl. Will took an involuntary step backwards.

"BRIGAND!" Elizabeth shouted. "Come!" The dog stood up, dislodging his bedmate, wagged his tail, and came to her. "Sit!" The dog obeyed immediately and yet never once took his eyes off of Will. She kneeled next to the dog, scratched him behind his ears, then glanced up and motioned for Will to come closer. "He just needs to get to know you. He's actually quite friendly." Will didn't look entirely convinced, but he was torn between keeping his eyes on the now seemingly-docile dog and watching his son groggily rub his eyes and stand up. The choice was an easy one, if Elizabeth trusted the dog, then so could he. He cautiously presented his hand to the dog more than halfway expecting it to be bitten off.

Elizabeth stood up from her crouched position and gave young Will a once over. "William Weatherby Swann Turner," came the stern voice "Where are your shoes?"

Will winced at the sound of his son's full name. He had wondered what it was, but just hadn't gotten around to asking yet. He didn't begrudge his wife using one of her family names, but did it have to be _Weatherby?_

The boy's repentant eyes drifted up to his mother, back down, over to his father, up to his face, and then back to his mother. Elizabeth followed his gaze to her husband's feet and looked up. Will grinned sheepishly back at his wife, shrugged slightly, but didn't say a word as he stooped down to eye level with his son. He shot his wife a quick glance before he spoke. "Perhaps we should go back inside and find ourselves some shoes, before she scolds us both?" he suggested with a conspiratorial wink for good measure. Will smiled back at his father and took one slightly hesitant step forward before running to him.

Elizabeth fought back tears as she watched her husband, Will's father; scoop the boy into his arms. For her, that one precious moment made all trials, tribulations and hardships the three of them had endured, vanish from her memory. Her face literally beamed as she watched her two Wills, one with his arms wrapped tightly around his father's neck and the other holding his son as if he would never let go, make their way back inside their home.


	4. Two Wills

Will wrapped his arms around his father's neck and held on tight. Likewise, the elder Will Turner maintained a firm grip on his son as he carried him into the house, up the stairs, and finally, to the boy's room. It pained him to think of all he had missed in his son's life. This was the first day he had the opportunity for any physical contact with the child and now he was nearly too big to pick up and carry. Will wasn't about to let that stop him. He couldn't take his eyes off his son. The realization that he and Elizabeth had created this life was almost more than he could comprehend at the moment. A huge smile suddenly appeared on his face as it occurred to him that _this _was exactly what he had looked like when he was nine. Except this child's life would be different, he would have both of his parents as Will had returned to his family -to stay - unlike his own father had.

The younger Will couldn't stop staring at his father either. As soon as he noticed his father's smile it was impossible for him to not return it with an equally happy one of his own. It was hard to believe that the man his mother had told him so much about was actually here, and obviously both ready and anxious, to step into his role as father to an active nine year old boy. He was reluctant to break the contact between them and let go, as his father set him down on his bed. Sensing the hesitancy in his son, Will hugged him tightly before letting go. If the truth be told, he was not ready to relinquish his hold either.

Neither Turner had spoken a word to each other since they had come inside. It was as if each of them understood that sometimes, words weren't necessary. It was the same intuitive understanding that the boy's parents had always shared, and now it seemed to have transcended another generation. The pair had a lot of lost time to make up for, but it appeared they were on their way.

Will scratched his head, looked down at his son, and wondered what to do next. The boy was more than a little muddy from his morning's adventures. Knowing how finicky Elizabeth had always been - and surely still was - about personal hygiene, he supposed the first step was to get him cleaned up and then worry about more appropriate clothes and shoes. _The same goes for me,_ as he remembered his own dirty feet. "Where -" he started, but his question was interrupted, before he hardly had a chance to begin.

"Evan brings the water in from the well and then Mercedes fills the pitchers and brings them to our rooms. She brings the towels too, but they're gone – or, at least, just gone for today. Evan and Mercedes that is, not the towels. I think they're coming back tomorrow. Mom told them not to come today because my fath..,- you, were coming home, so that means I don't have to wash up - do I? Can we go see your ship? Is my grandfather there? Will you teach me to use a sword?" the boy blurted out, all in a single breath, both answering his father's unfinished question, and adding more than a few of his own.

"Will!" Two startled faces turned towards the sound of Elizabeth's voice. So intently had the two of them been involved in getting better acquainted that neither one of them had heard her come in the house, much less up the stairs. "Don't beleaguer your father with so many questions!" It wasn't until she gave her command, that either Will had any idea which one she was addressing. The two of them noticed simultaneously the pitcher of water and towels she was carrying. "I should think both of you could use these?" Her words were partially, a question, partially, a suggestion, but mostly, an order, as she placed the items next to the basin, on the table.

Flashing his wife a smile, then turning back to his son, Will looked him directly in the eyes, winked and agreed "I suppose that answers your first question. As for the others…," he paused and glanced back at Elizabeth before continuing. "The _Flying Dutchman_ is no longer in my charge. I can show it to you, but I can't take you aboard. If I do that, I'll have to stay there, and I would much rather stay here with you and your mother if you'll have me," knowing full well what both his wife's and his son's response would be. Will instinctively knew that they would do whatever it took, no matter how challenging, to ensure that he did not leave his family again. He then briefly considered his response to the next question.

"Your grandfather is there, in fact, he's going to be the Captain now. I would like very much for him to meet you; but your mother would have to agree to it and it would have to be today" At that Will looked questioningly at his wife.

Elizabeth released the pent up breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Until that point, she hadn't known what had happened to him after the maelstrom battle. She had merely assumed that he had been released from his obligation to the _Flying Dutchman_ when his only son became its captain, but never considered what he did next. Her focus had been entirely on her husband, as it should be, and still was. It was somehow poetic justice to her that he had stayed aboard the ship, with his son, and would now take his place as Captain, '_But at what price_?' Would Bootstrap have to cut out his heart? The chest had disappeared. Didn't breaking the captain's attachment to the ship require the faithful love of a woman? Will's own mother had died more than twenty years earlier and truthfully, Elizabeth knew little to nothing of the relationship between Will's parents. Had they been happy together? She knew Bootstrap had left them when Will was very young, and hadn't returned; but there _was_ the issue of the intervening curses he had endured to consider. Surely Bootstrap knew and understood the task he was about to undertake and the unlikelihood that we ever be released from the obligation. She understood why Will had said they would have to see Bootstrap today, since would have to be _his_ one day ashore before embarking on his ten year odyssey. Elizabeth shuddered at the memory of Will's last few moments ashore before his departure. Letting him go had easily been the most difficult thing she had ever done, would doing the same for Bootstrap be any different for Will or even their son?

Shaking her head as if waking from a trance, Elizabeth nodded to her husband and son. "I think that would make for a quite pleasant outing, actually." She decided it would be better to let Will decide exactly what, and how much, to tell their son about his grandfather and the duty he was about to undertake. This was definitely more of a father-son issue than most. She turned, headed out the door, and added "You two get ready; I'll go cook something for breakfast."

Her son released an audible groan.

"I heard that!" she said, continuing on her way. "I _can_ make tea–and toast– usually" she replied somewhat unconvincingly.

The Turner's only child flung himself back on the bed. "We're going to starve."

"Is it that bad?" Will laughed as his son sat back up, nodded his head, and rolled his eyes as only a nine-year old boy can do.

"You have _no_ idea" he answered with an overly dramatic sigh. "Mrs. Lansford just _has_ to come back tomorrow or we'll surely go hungry."

"I take it Mrs. Lansford is responsible for our health and well being as far as meals go?" his face a study in seriousness, but his voice clearly reflecting his amusement.

"Yes, sir! But she can do _anything _else," came the conspiratorial reply as if that were consolation for Elizabeth's inadequacies as a cook.

"I seem to recall that," he said with a grin. "Now let's get cleaned up, find your shoes and get ready to go meet your grandfather."

The pair of them washed up as best they could, in virtual silence the son never once taking his eyes off of his father, as if he expected him to disappear any second, never to return; the father likewise never taking his eyes off of his son, as if he still couldn't quite believe that this small boy was his child, a living, breathing, physical testament to his and Elizabeth's love for each other. Will knew he couldn't dwell on the past, but the realization of how much of his son's life he had missed and how little he knew about him left an emotional void he knew must deal with. Perhaps, today's excursion would be a step in that direction. He had already begun to notice how the boy's expressions and gestures mirrored Elizabeth's own. He wondered if the boy had or would, in time, adopt some of Will's own. That thought made him smile yet again.

"Shoes?" Will asked his son as he kneeled down in front of him.

The child in question walked over to a large trunk near the foot of his bed, lifted the heavy lid and withdrew a pair of neatly rolled socks. He heaved another one of his now familiar sighs, dropped to his knees, and began rummaging around under the bed. After a moment, he stood up, with his prize, such that is was, in his hands. He then walked back towards his father, hopped back onto the bed and began to put on the socks. Will rocked back on his heels, watched his son for a moment, and then reached for the shoes, holding up one in each hand. Shaking his head slightly at the memory of having to wear similar buckled shoes, and how much he had hated them, he leaned forward and touched his forehead to that of his son. "Does she really make you wear these?"

"Yes, sir. I want some real boots, _pirate_boots, but mum always tells me no. I think she thinks I'm too little still. Besides, Mr. Tolliver likes to remind me that buckled shoes are the fashion for society in Port Royal. "

"I might just have to talk to her about that" Will told his son, foreheads still touching, wondering who Mr. Tolliver might be, and when Elizabeth had started paying any mind to what was considered "correct" socially. She certainly hadn't when she agreed to marry him. That thought brought to memory his own first pair of "real" boots. He had been barely twenty-one years old before he ever had a pair -and those had been a gift from Elizabeth, shortly after their engagement, on the occasion of completing his apprenticeship with Mr. Brown. He could have bought his own, but he saved nearly every shilling he earned, in hopes of setting up his own shop one day and building himself and Elizabeth with a home of their own. He knew that Elizabeth's father would, somewhat begrudgingly, have supplied them with everything they needed, but it had been a matter of principle to Will. He wanted to provide for his own wife and children. Those had been such happy times for them, so much in love, so full of hope, with so many plans for the future. Nothing had gone as they had expected. But now they had the chance to make up for lost time and Will was determined to take advantage of it.

Will leaned back from his son, helped him put on the detestable, but fashionable shoes and stood up. "How about we go find mine, before I get into trouble too?"

He took the boy's hand and walked the short distance to his and Elizabeth's room. Just shy of the open doorway, he sensed his son's hesitation and looked down at him. "Is something the matter?" The concern was plainly evident in his voice.

His child merely looked up at him, wariness showing in his eyes, as his gaze shifted, staring at something across the room. His breathing sounded slightly irregular, as if something had frightened him. Will followed his gaze and noticed nothing except the double bed with its collection of tangled sheets. Surely _that_ wasn't what had spooked his son. Since he had long since surmised that Elizabeth did none of the household chores herself, he assumed, in addition to the cook, Mrs. Lansford, that there was also a housekeeper. An unmade bed would be a common sight, wouldn't it? Then he realized what the boy saw or rather, what he _didn't _see: the chest. Until that moment, it had not occurred to him that his son's only real, tangible connection with him had been his heart, locked safely in the chest, which his mother guarded so carefully. Elizabeth had mentioned that it had been a long standing habit of his to seek it out whenever possible, whether as reassurance that his father was alive somewhere, or just out of curiosity. It didn't matter; its absence was proving somewhat worrisome for the boy. "Will?" he said softly as he got down on his knees yet again and put his arms around his young son, "it's not there anymore. It's gone – forever." Will felt a tremor sweep through the boy and pulled him closer. "Everything is back as it should be. My heart is where it belongs. It still belongs to you and your mother. It always has and it always will. Don't ever doubt that. "

The youngest Turner turned his head to press an ear against his father's chest. He could hear it. The same rhythmic beating, that had comforted him for his first nine years, from inside the ornately carved chest, could now be heard coming from his father's ribcage. He hugged his father tighter. "I love you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Promise not to leave us again?" he pleaded.

Captain William Turner, formerly of the _Flying Dutchman_, the man responsible for ferrying souls lost at sea to the other side, for breaking the curse of the gold of Cortez and veteran of countless other adventures, was nearly at a loss for words. Trying vainly to control the emotion in his voice, he took his son's face in his hands, and again touched his own forehead to that of his child. "I promised your mother the day that I left, that I would come back to her - to _stay._ I didn't know about you then. But if I had, I would have promised you the same. I love you and your mother more than you imagine. "

The boy's face visibly relaxed as the tension flowed out of his little body. He smiled as he reached up, wrapped his arms around his father's neck, buried his face in his chest and hugged him tightly. Will could hear his son's breathing return to normal and feel his warm breath on his chest. He again picked the boy up as he returned to his feet and entered the room. He wasn't entirely sure where his boots where. While his son had neatly put his clothes away the night before, he hadn't been quite so meticulous. He suffered a brief flicker of panic at the thought of being asked exactly how and why he couldn't find his own shoes, but quickly tamped it down. Something made him think that while the situation had the potential of being the first time he would have to evade an awkward question from the boy; it was most assuredly _not _going to be the last. He was too much like his parents in that respect. Fortunately, Will spied the wayward footwear lying next to one of the chairs by the fireplace. That wasn't where he remembered removing them, but no matter, there were more important things to attend to at the moment - such as explaining to his son about Bootstrap and why this day would be their only chance to meet.

After retrieving his boots and putting them on, Will again addressed his son "Shall we go downstairs and see how breakfast is coming along? His question was met with a grimace and rolling eyes. Will raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side with an amused expression on his face. "I need to talk to your mother – alone - for a few minutes. Do you think you can stay out of mischief for that long?"

The younger Will contemplated the request for a few seconds, then nodded. "I can read a book."

Read? That was a habit he had surely learned from his mother. It wasn't that Will couldn't read - he could- he even liked to. Elizabeth had frequently loaned him books from her collection more than making up for the lack of any of his own. It just hadn't been an activity he had ever had much time for. And then, when he actually _did_ have time to do so, there was the issue of a serious lack of reading material aboard the _Flying Dutchman. _Had he wanted to learn to play the pipe organ, he would have been all set, but there generally hadn't really been many interesting options on how to wile away the hours in the land of the dead. To be honest, Will was quite pleased that his and Elizabeth's son was being raised in a situation where he actually did have the luxury of time to read. There were few things he wanted more than for his own children to have advantages that he himself thought he could never have hoped for.

"That sounds like an excellent plan. Do you have a book?"

"Yes, sir, it's in the library."

"Which would be where exactly?"

There was yet another small sigh, so like his mother's, from the boy. He hadn't given much thought to how little his father would know about their day to day life, or even where anything was in their home. Was this why his mother kept reminding him to be patient? It appeared he would have to explain _everything. _ "Follow me!" he announced as if the two of them were about to set off on a grand adventure.

Out into the hallway, down the stairs, not worrying about the creaky step, to a moderately large room on the far side of the house the pair went. Inside were two large bay windows looking out into the garden beside the house, a fireplace surrounded by some cozy looking chairs with a small table in between, and books, lots of books, walls full of them, books of every size and subject imaginable. Somehow, Elizabeth must have managed to procure a significant portion of the Swann family's possessions from the Governor's Mansion. No easy task to be sure - considering the circumstances under which she had left Port Royal and her father's subsequent murder at the orders of Lord Cutler Beckett. Will had always been, and would always be, in awe of her resourcefulness.

Young Will plopped down in one of the chairs, picked up a well -worn tome from the table and began looking for his place. "You should read this, it's quite exciting!" he declared enthusiastically. "Mother says it was one of her favorites when she was my age" he said as he quickly became engrossed in the story.

Elder Will smirked and shook his head. He knew, without even looking, that his son was reading something about pirates. He just hoped that Elizabeth had taken the time to explain that the romanticized view of pirate life was a far cry from the reality of it. Exactly how much of their first hand experience in the matter had she shared with their son? Now he _really _needed to talk to his wife alone. How much the boy knew about his own pirate ancestry would have a direct impact on how much he could, or even _should_, be told about his paternal grandfather. With that thought Will turned, exited the room and went in search of his wife.


	5. No secrets

Preparing the tea had been easy. One of her earliest duties, when she and her father first came to Port Royal, was to serve as the official hostess of the Governor's mansion. As such, she was quite adept at preparing and pouring tea, not to mention surviving endless rounds of banal conversation. The problem was with the metal utensil in her hand. It was a toasting fork. She knew that. She also knew what to do with it, but somehow _knowing _what to do and actually _doing_ it were not quite one and the same thing. Elizabeth stood in front of the glowing embers of the fire she had built and examined the offending tool closely. _Why are the prongs so short?_ It was impossible to toast more than one of the thick slabs of bread at a time with something this inefficient. _I wonder if Will can make me a new one, one that would hold at least _two _pieces of bread…..or even better, something that could be attached to the spit. _ It wasn't as if the workings of the kitchen were normally any of her concern, but she liked efficiency. Besides, Mrs. Lansford would have three Turners to care for now, so any improvements would benefit them all. Actually, with any luck, Elizabeth hoped there would soon be a fourth on the way, and while that was beside the point, it made her smile to think of the possibility.

"He's right, isn't he?"

The sound of Will's voice snapped Elizabeth out of her daydream. She turned and saw her husband leaning against the door jamb, his barely suppressed laughter threatening to escape at any moment. He was still wearing the same white shirt and breeches he had been wearing upon his return, but now he was also wearing his boots and had at least partially managed to restrain his long, dark hair with the faded green bandana.

"What ever do you mean?" Her face was a veritable portrait of feigned indignity. Her twinkling eyes gave away her amusement.

"You really have no idea what you're doing. Here…" he stepped over to her and took the utensil from her hand, "let me." Turning the fork over in his hands, he evaluated its shortcomings, much as his wife had just done. "I think I can improve on this, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. I might even be able to devise a way to attach it to the spit."

Elizabeth laughed. "I was just thinking much the same thing. Does this mean you're going to go back to blacksmithing?"

"Perhaps. I hadn't really thought about it. I just know that I don't want to do anything that would take me away from you and Will."

"I, no, _we, _would like that very much. I've missed you. He's missed you."

Will carefully threaded a slice of bread on the fork, pulled up a small stool, and sat before the fire. He twisted around so that he could see her. "Elizabeth, we need to talk."

"About?" She sounded far more confident than she actually was, but she knew he was right. There were so many things they needed to resolve. Many things had changed during his ten year absence. Probably the only thing that hadn't changed was how much she loved him. Will's transition back to life among the living was definitely a high priority among the issues that needed to be addressed.

"Today; Bootstrap; what Will knows; what he doesn't know; what he needs to be told about my father." Will rotated the fork to toast the other side of the bread. "I meant to tell you earlier about Bootstrap taking my place. I would never keep something like that from you. We promised no more secrets. It's just that Will's questions caught me off guard. I suppose I'm not very good at being a parent."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It takes practice, patience and the willingness to make lots of mistakes. I can promise you that. As for the questions - he certainly can ask a lot of them." She moved to stand behind Will and placed her hands on his shoulders. "He's quite bright. He hears people talk, pays very close attention, and questions what he's heard. It's a never ending battle to try and decide what to tell him and what to gloss over, as it were." She handed him another slice of bread, which he traded for the now perfectly toasted one he had been holding over the coals. "He knows why you were gone, he knows why we left Port Royal, and he knows he has pirate blood. Beyond that, who's to say? "

"That's certainly enough, don't you think?"

"One day, he will undoubtedly learn the rest, but not today. Allow him to just be a little boy meeting his only grandparent today. I tend to only share as much information with him as circumstances dictate. Don't worry. You'll become well versed in how to do that in no time." She slid her hands forward to his chest and rested her chin on the top of his head. "Perhaps even before the day is out" she added with a chuckle.

Will flipped the bread. "I would like nothing better." He paused for a moment as if unsure how to continue. "It's just that I don't know how this works now with the chest gone. If Bootstrap decides he no longer wants the responsibility, how will he ever escape? There was nothing left in the box to stab and no one other than me waiting for him on this side."

"I'm waiting – and Will." Elizabeth straightened back up and slid her hands back to Will's shoulders.

Will tilted his head back, looked up at his wife and gave her a grim smile. "But will that enough to release him? My promise to free him from the _Dutchman _is partially responsible for how we ended up in this predicament to start with. Can I condemn him to that fate yet again?"

Elizabeth felt Will tense up as he became more agitated. "Will," she said, softly. "It's not the same fate. This time his attachment is of his own accord, so that you can stay with us. I couldn't bear it if you left me again. I need you. Your son needs you. "

Will stood up, turned around, placed the toast, still attached to the fork, on the table and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. "I won't leave you or Will, ever again. I promise."

She buried her face in his neck and would have been content to stay that way all morning, but for the fact that there was still the matter their child to take care of. He would only wait for his breakfast for so long. Elizabeth sighed and kissed her husband. "I know. I just don't know what to tell you" she whispered.

Will retrieved the fork, removed the toasted bread, picked up a third slice of bread and ran the tines of the fork through it. "There's really nothing you can tell me. I just know I want him to meet his _only_ grandson and I need to say my goodbyes." He sat back down and returned to his task.

Elizabeth realized that she knew something about Will's family that he either didn't know or didn't remember. Something she had inadvertently learned during his absence. He had a half-sister. While Bootstrap knew of his eldest daughter's existence, he most likely didn't know that he had, in fact, other grandchildren, three to be exact. She had meant it when she had sworn never to keep secrets from Will. He was equally adamant about that as she was. It never crossed her mind to withhold what she knew about the rest of his family. But was it really a secret? Bootstrap had abandoned his daughter in much the same way he had abandoned Will. The difference was she _knew _what her father had been - a pirate. Will had been led to believe something far more innocuous. Elizabeth didn't see a choice other than to share what she knew with Will. _But how much should I tell him? Did he need to or even want to know everything? Do I even have a choice?_

"Was Bootstrap married to someone else before your mother?"

The puzzled expression on Will's face left no doubt that the question had taken him completely by surprise. His first inclination was to answer no, but in the back of his mind there was a vague twinge of a memory that fought to be free. He recalled learning from Bootstrap that his parents hadn't known each other very long before they married. Their first child had arrived not too long after, but had died in infancy. Will had been born little more than a year later. The feeling that he should, and actually did, know more kept nagging at him. "I don't know. He never said, I never asked, but -"

Elizabeth could tell her question had unsettled Will, but she had started down this path and couldn't turn back now. "Will, this is not an easy thing to tell you. It might not even be easy for you to hear, but I can't pretend I don't know, and you'll find out eventually anyway. No secrets. Remember?"

Will knitted his eyebrows and tried to focus on the toasting bread. Somehow he felt he might not like what his wife was about to tell him.

"You have a sister. She's twelve years older than you."

The long buried memory rushed back to the forefront. "Rebeka."

"Yes, her name is Rebeka. Do you remember her?" Elizabeth's voice reflected a calmness she did not feel.

"A little, I guess, mostly just vague images. She left when I was very young." Will sounded as if his mind were a thousand miles away at the moment. The memories were still sketchy at best, but they were beginning to clear.

"You were four" Elizabeth said very quietly.

"How do you know this?" His thoughts had returned to the present, but his words were fraught with tension.

"It's very complicated, so please don't ask me to explain everything now. But I lived on her sugar plantation, on Isla Escondida, for the first seven years you were gone. The Brethren court sent me there. I'm not sure if it was for my own protection or so they could keep an eye on me, but it doesn't matter now. It wasn't until later I learned of the connection to you - us."

Will looked at her warily. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Elizabeth looked away for a moment, then turned back to her husband. "Because you're going to have to tell Bootstrap that he has family left besides you-us."

Elizabeth was beginning to get frustrated with herself at her apparent inability to modify her speech and thought processes to reflect that from this point forward all decisions involving the Turner family would now be "we" and no longer just "you" or "I." Learning to work together as a couple again was another prominent entry on the list of adjustments to be made. She was making a conscious effort to not allow her irritation with herself to show in her voice, lest Will think she was irritated with him.

"I can't" he replied, with an unnerving lack of emotion in his voice, as he finished with the last piece of toast.

"You don't have a choice. He must know before he makes his decision."

"And what if he decides that he doesn't want to take my place as Captain? He's made his decision already. He can't back out now."

That was exactly what Elizabeth was afraid of. In the space just a very few minutes she had gone from daydreaming about having more children to worrying that her husband was, indeed, not yet free. She did not have an answer for him.

Will stood up, his back yet to his wife, brandishing the toasting fork as if it were a sword, "Elizabeth, he's my father, but he _chose_ to leave his family to go off pirating, he _chose_ participate in the mutiny, even if he regretted it later, he _chose _to be part of Davy Jones' crew and he _chose _to stay with me the last ten years. I've spent my almost my entire life either searching for him or trying to rescue him and at what cost? To me? To you? To our son? It's my turn to choose." He turned around. "I can't. I can't leave you again."

Elizabeth noticed the faint crack in Will's voice. His obvious agitation and anger frightened her, but she stood her ground. "I know the consequences of taking someone's choices away. I don't want you to live with that guilt."

He knew she referred to her leaving Jack for the Kraken. It was not a period of their lives he relished reliving.

"This is different." His voice was cold and emotionless.

"No, Will, it's not. You have to tell him and let him make his decision. All we can do is trust that he will do what is right by his family. I don't think Rebeka cares if he's in this world or the next, and I'm sure he knows that. You were left with your mother, she had no one. He knew where she was long before he joined Jack's crew, long before the mutiny, and long before Barbossa ever strapped him to that cannon. He could have reconciled with her; had a relationship with her, and her family, but he chose not to. I would hope he could see the futility in trading one bitter child for another." Elizabeth's irritation with herself finally spilled over into her words.

Will stood there for a few moments, with his eyes closed, his chest heaving in exasperation and resentment towards this most recent development as he tried to calm himself. Elizabeth was right. He knew that. He couldn't allow Bootstrap to take over the Captaincy without knowing everything that he was giving up. All they could do is hope that he made the best decision for everyone. _Why does life always have to be this hard? The chance to begin mine is long overdue. Dear God, please let me stay here. _

"Are we ever going to eat?" asked a tiny voice from the doorway. "I'm hungry."

"Aren't you always" his mother answered quickly as she turned to block her son's view of his father. There was nothing to be gained at the moment by having to explain to the boy why Will was so distraught.

Grateful at being released from their near argument and the thought of his ties to the ship not yet being severed, Will quickly regained his composure, stepped around his wife and smiled at their son. Elizabeth stepped away from them, ostensibly busying herself gathering up the breakfast items; the plate of toast, pots of jam, a crock of butter, assorted cutlery and other miscellaneous items they might need or want.

"Why don't we help your mother take all of this into the dining room?" Will suggested, hoping the astute little boy would not notice that something was amiss with his parents.

Throughout the meal, Will and Elizabeth repeatedly exchanged nervous glances. Neither one knew how to broach the subject with their son of how much he already knew about his grandfather and what, _hopefully_, was about to happen, nor what they needed to tell him. In the end, it was their son who broke the silence.

"Is grandfather going to cut out his own heart?"

Elizabeth shuddered at the memory of the last time a heart was put in the chest. Will appeared unfazed by the question. "I don't know. I don't think so, since the chest is missing" he said matter of factly, thinking it best to not tell the boy of their early morning visitor and the circumstances of the chest's disappearance. There would be time for that later.

"When he leaves here, will he go visit Aunt Rebeka?"

That one was a little harder to answer. Will was glad that Elizabeth had told him of his sister or else this could have been very awkward. He was torn between telling the boy that it wasn't possible, lying to him and letting him think that Bootstrap would indeed go visit his daughter or just claiming he didn't know. He cast a glance at Elizabeth. The look in her eyes reminded him that they had sworn to always tell each other the truth and not keep secrets. That promise must apply to their child as well. "William, you do know that when your grandfather leaves here he won't be able to step on land again for ten years. You'll be nearly a grown man before he can come visit you again."

"I know." The boy nodded in response. "But I still saw you."

That was not the answer Will expected. He knew he had dreamed of interaction between him and his son, but he had never been entirely sure if they had been real or, even if it were, if the boy would remember. He and Elizabeth had managed contact with each other on some level from time to time. He had always assumed it was just an extension of the bond they had already had. _Would the same thing happen for Bootstrap and his grandson?_

William knew that this conversation was going to be serious, that was the only reason anyone ever called him William, unless, of course, he was about to get into trouble. He looked at his mother then back to his father. "Does he only have today?"

"Yes. When he leaves here he will have to return to the land of the dead and take over my duties transporting souls."

"What if he decides he doesn't want to leave here?"

The boy's parents looked at each other; each trying to hide their own nervousness. This was the one question above all others they did _not _want to address with their son. This time, Elizabeth answered, using every ounce of self control she had to keep the fear from her voice "If he decides to stay here, then your father will have to return to the ship."

Will looked at his father, who nodded in agreement. His grim expression and the look of worry in his eyes frightened the boy.

"But what if I don't _want_ you to go?"

"I don't want to go, but it's your grandfather's decision."

"Can we just stay home today and not go see him?" he pleaded.

Elizabeth joined in the discussion. "William, that wouldn't be fair to him. It would be cruel to send him away without ever seeing you or saying goodbye to your father."

"May I tell him that I don't want you to go away again?" Tears began forming in his eyes as he addressed his father. While the two of them had shared an emotional link during Will's absence, they had actually just met for the first time the evening before, he wasn't about to allow them to be separated again. His mother may have patiently waited for ten years for her husband to return, but he had been waiting for his father his entire life.

_Was being a parent always going to be this difficult? Was the reason that Bootstrap had abandoned both of his children? Because he couldn't handle the hard parts? _Will shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, I just don't know" he said.

No one said a word for what felt like an eternity before Elizabeth gathered the courage to speak. "We can't sit here all day and worry about it, we need to go." Looking at her husband, she added, "I suppose you know exactly where it is we need to be?"

Without removing his eyes from his son's, Will nodded his head in confirmation. "I know exactly where we need to be. It's Bootstrap I'm not sure about."

They all understood what Will meant. They needed to be _here-together-always. _


	6. The Dutchman Needs a Captain

The _Flying Dutchman_ had found anchorage in a small, sheltered cove not too distant from Port Royal. While it now no longer looked much different than any other ship in its class, other than being somewhat lighter in color than most, the crew still preferred to not draw much attention to it, or themselves. There were too many questions surrounding its origin and purpose for their comfort. Davy Jones had been deposed as captain ten years previous, but the tales and legends associated with the horror of his centuries long rule were still quite prevalent.

There were practically no stories telling of the ship's most recent decade at sea, with its new captain, but that was because there was nothing much to tell. Will Turner had returned the ship and its crew to their original purpose; ferrying the souls of those lost at sea to the other side. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the responsibility, as it had taken him from his new bride, but he had taken over the duty with which he was charged with the care and devotion it deserved. Dealing with death on a daily basis would never be pleasant, but Will's respectful determination to the task was what had been needed. Now his ten years were over, his obligation to the ship severed, and all because there had been one young woman and one small boy waiting for him on the cliffs above the bay. He had never once doubted that they would be there when the ship returned to the land of the living, just the evening before, in a blinding flash of brilliant green light.

At sunset, the ship would again abandon this plane of existence in exchange for another, but this time with a new Captain at the helm. William "Bootstrap Bill" Turner, father of the previous Captain Turner, was preparing to take over the responsibility. He felt he owed it to his son, and in many ways, he did. His own history of making poor choices had resulted in his being cursed, not once, but twice, and ultimately cost his son ten years of his life; ten _long _years that had begun just one day after he had married the woman he loved since childhood. His guilt was further compounded by the knowledge that Will had also, unknowingly, left behind an unborn child, a son, he had seldom seen and hadn't yet had the chance to know. Bootstrap, Will and Elizabeth had freely made their own choices, the child had not.

Will, his only son, might choose to believe that Bootstrap's debt to him had been fulfilled by his choice to stay aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ during Will's tenure as captain, but Bootstrap didn't agree. Someone had to take his place so that Will could now truly be free, someone who would dedicate himself to the job, someone who wouldn't miss the world of the living, _someone _like Bootstrap. And so it would be.

The former pirate and crew mate of Captain Jack Sparrow, sat on a massive limestone boulder on the narrow beach, staring out at the ship. Most of his life had been spent aboard one ship or another so he didn't see how his life would really be all that different if he took over as captain of this particular one. There was little left for him here. Of his few known relatives, most were either, dead, estranged, or simply lost to him. Will's small family was the exception. Bootstrap feared that there may be some resentment towards him there on the part of Will's wife and their young son. He knew that Will's choice to stab Davy Jones' heart had little- no, _nothing_ to do with saving Bootstrap from his own fate. It had ultimately come down to Will's choice to return to Elizabeth, no matter what the cost. But Bootstrap still held some remorse over what had been returned to him in the bargain – a chance to live his life over and a chance to know his son. Then there was the matter of his killing James Norrington, a long-time friend of Elizabeth's, and the man who, willingly or not, let her go to pursue a life with Will. Yes, he owed Will this one last sacrifice.

He had only met Elizabeth one time, and didn't remember much of the encounter, but felt he knew her well. Most likely from his son's incessant talk of his wife, their adventures together and their plans for the future. - a future that included children of their own. Although Will had never actually said, Bootstrap knew that Will meant children he would never abandon as Bootstrap had done his. It still pained him to think that after all their time to talk to each other, aboard the _Dutchman_, that he had never managed the courage to tell Will about his first wife and their daughter, nor had he told him the circumstances surrounding his marriage to Will's mother. He didn't know if it was because of his own cowardice at facing his faults or because of touch of jealousy over what Will had with Elizabeth. Something that Bootstrap had never known and now never would.

The old sailor sighed and looked off into the distance in the direction of Port Royal. The town wasn't visible from his location, but he knew if Will were coming back, he would come from that way. He also knew it would have to be today – his one day ashore before he took over as Captain. Truthfully, he wouldn't have blamed his son one bit if he decided to let him go on his way without saying goodbye, but he_ had_ promised, and Will always kept his promises. It was one of his many traits that set him apart from his father. What he hadn't been able to promise was if Elizabeth, or their son, would come with him. He knew that Will would never be so bold or inconsiderate as to make decisions for them. All Bootstrap could do was hope – and wait. Inevitably, sundown would come and he would have to return to the ship; final goodbyes or no. Although it was getting late in the day, Bootstrap continued his silent vigil, never once wavering in his hope that he would see his son one final time.

_**Port Royal**_

The newly reunited Turner family set out on their mission to locate Bootstrap and the _Flying Dutchman. _ Will knew that the crew would not have been too keen on the idea of leaving the ship anchored near the beach where he had disembarked. There were still too many people who might recognize it even in its refurbished state. A strange ship in the harbor was bound to raise questions – questions that Will didn't want to have to answer. Fortunately, Will still felt enough of a connection to the ship to know exactly where it lay at anchor. He sincerely hoped that last tenuous connection was because the twenty-four hour period of transition in captains was not yet over and not because his father had changed his mind about replacing him. He could tell from his wife's demeanor that she, too, was somewhat anxious to have the matter resolved. He was sure the strain showing on her face mirrored his own. Casting his wife a reassuring smile, he took one of his son's hands, as his wife took the other, and the three of them, together, headed east down Carmen Street towards the edge of town and what lay beyond.

Will was amazed at how much the same, and yet different, the town now was. He had been away from Port Royal for nearly eleven years- none of them by his choice alone. Too many other people and circumstances had directed his path through life, but now it was his turn to live as he chose, where he chose. To be honest, he had spent the preceding years in something of a limbo, never knowing where or even when he would be. He therefore anxiously anticipated the opportunity to stay in one place and put down roots, to start his life over with his wife and son.

He wrinkled his nose at the miasma of odors that assailed his senses. He had forgotten how many different smells there were in a town, particularly one that served as a major shipping port. At sea, all there had been was clean, salt air. That crisp scent might possibly be the only thing he would miss, but he was sure he could quite easily remedy that. How difficult could it possibly be to sail out of Port Royal even if for just a few short days? He also noticed that while the architecture of the town was essentially the same, barring a few updates and additions, the names on the businesses were not. It was just the normal course of things to change, but it would take some adjustment on his part. He looked over at Elizabeth and realized how grateful he was that he had her at his side to help him in his transition from life between worlds to a more traditional one among the living. He squeezed his son's hand and glanced down at him. The boy immediately looked up at his father and flashed him a grin, his eyes twinkling with admiration for his father combined with a healthy dose of mischief. Will felt a surge of pride well up inside. It was impossible for him not to return his son's grin. Will knew that the child walking between him and Elizabeth would also play an important, but as yet undetermined, role in his journey back to this place and time, perhaps the most important one.

Either Elizabeth did not care how the residents of Port Royal treated her or she just didn't pay them any mind. Very few people acknowledged the Turner family as they progressed through town, even fewer spoke. And of those that did, they all addressed only Elizabeth and her son. It was as if they didn't even notice the man walking with her. Will had no idea how they viewed her situation. For all he knew, they believed her to be a widow. It certainly would have been easier to explain to people than true reason behind his extended absence. Who would have believed the tale anyway? Then again, it was possible that people just didn't recognize him. He did look quite different from the barely twenty-one year old young man who had left Port Royal, in search of Captain Jack Sparrow and his magical compass, in an effort to free both himself, and Elizabeth, - _particularly _Elizabeth from their appointment with the gallows. The man who returned from that journey was far more self-assured than that boy had ever hoped to be. Truth be told, there was also the issue of his somewhat unorthodox attire for the setting. He did look quite pirate-like, with his boots, bandana and single earring, but it wasn't as if he had had much of a chance to update his wardrobe yet. If it didn't bother his family, he certainly wouldn't let it bother him.

_**The beach**_

"Is that grandfather?" a small voice asked, pointing at the lone man on the beach.

"Yes" his parents answered simultaneously and then laughed at each other. After all this time apart, it was amazing how quickly they had regained their ability to anticipate each others thoughts, words and actions.

The sound of their gleeful laughter caught the attention of the man in question. Bootstrap stood up, shielded his eyes from the intense Caribbean sun and peered in the direction from which it had come. It was Will. He had come, just as he said, just as he promised. Bootstrap felt ashamed that he had even for one second doubted Will would come along with two other people who could only be Elizabeth and their son. A surge of deep fatherly pride washed over Bootstrap as he watched his son and his family approach. A rare smile spread across his face. The impending introduction to his grandson somehow made everything that had happened in his life, and everything he was about to undertake, worthwhile.

"Captain Turner, "Will said, addressing his father, "may I introduce you to my wife?"

"Mrs. Turner." Bootstrap nodded and offered his hand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance-again."

"Please, call me Elizabeth" her voice was gentle, bearing no signs of any ill will towards her father-in-law in the role he had played in that final battle; not to mention Norrington's unfortunate demise at Bootstraps hands.

"Elizabeth, it shall be." Bootstrap's gaze shifted to the small boy, peering out from behind Will. A boy, who looked so very much like his father, that there was no mistaking the relationship. "And who might this fine, young man be?

A quiet, guarded voice offered, "My name is William Weatherby Swann Turner. I'm nine. Are you my grandfather?

Bootstrap chuckled to himself as he stooped down to eye level with the boy. "Yes, I suppose I am. I'm also William Turner and I'm a good bit older than nine."

"Pleased to meet you, sir" the youngest of the William Turners responded, offering his hand in greeting.

Bootstrap shook the boy's hand. "There's no need for such formality. You can call me Bootstrap -or grandfather if you prefer. Actually, I would be quite honored for you to call me grandfather" he said with a wink.

"Grandfather" Will said slowly as if trying out how the name felt on his tongue. "Are you going to see Aunt Rebeka today too?"

Bootstrap blanched at the name. Will and Elizabeth exchanged a nervous glance. Young Will took no notice of his slight blunder, but, of course, to him it was an entirely appropriate question. He continued speaking, "My father says you only have until sunset to see everyone you want and if you go see her and her children that will take too long and my then my father would have to go back there." He looked at the _Flying Dutchman_ as he pointed to it. "I don't want him to leave again," he added, as he stepped backwards toward his father and clutched his hand tightly.

Will put his hand on his son's shoulder to reassure him and looked at his own father, waiting for him to say something –_anything_. Elizabeth too stepped sideways towards her husband in an obviously protective manner.

Bootstrap bowed his head for a moment, lost in thought. He was ashamed that he had unnecessarily kept the knowledge of his other child from Will. As with every family secret; this one had come back to haunt him. There was a look of both sadness and regret in his eyes when he looked back at his son. "I haven't seen her since she was maybe fourteen. I have no idea what happened to her or where she is."

_That wasn't quite true, Jack had once told him where his daughter was living, what she was doing, that she had married and at that point had two small children of her own, but he didn't want to share that with Will. Perhaps because despite being given that information, he still felt guilty about not having made_ _any effort to find and to reconcile with her?_

"I didn't think you remembered her. You never mentioned her. You couldn't have been more than four when she went away"

Will exchanged another cautious look with his wife. "I didn't remember. Not until today at least. Elizabeth mentioned something that reminded me. I still don't remember much." Will supposed that was close enough to the truth. "Actually, Elizabeth has met her." Will too, decided not to share with his father everything that he had learned from his and Elizabeth's earlier conversation. It wasn't like he was keeping a secret exactly. "Why did you never tell me?"

"There wasn't much to tell. Your mother, her step-mother, assumed she ran away or eloped with someone and that was the end of it. She would have been sixteen by then. "

"But she was your child too." Will's voice was beginning to show his frustration at finding another broken branch in his family tree. "How could you not look for her?"

Bootstrap shook his head. "I have no excuse. My life has been a series of one poorly thought out choice after another. You know as well as I, that I should have long since been dead. Please, let me make the right choice now."

"And what would that be, exactly?"

"I go back to the _Flying Dutchman_, take over as captain, as we agreed and sail the seas beyond this world through eternity - never return to inflict more grief on my family."

"I can't allow that. You can't just throw away the chance you were given and abandon the world and everything - everyone, in it. I paid a high price for your freedom. That means the ship is still my responsibility"

"And I can't allow that. You have a life here, a wife; a child. I've lived my life, it's time you have yours. The price you paid was for your own freedom. It's my duty to ensure you keep it.

"Will!" Elizabeth shrieked, grabbing his arm and gripping it tightly, "_**NO**_! You can't leave, we _need_ you. You _promised._"

Will turned his head towards Elizabeth. He took in both her horrified expression along with the sound of their son trying to stifle his tears and instantly regretted his outburst, he knew he couldn't go through with it. He had acted rashly and regretted his words as soon as they spilled from his mouth. _What had he been thinking? If Bootstrap didn't want to go then surely someone else aboard the ship would be willing to take over as Captain. The remaining crew had already died; their options were the ship or the land of the dead._

The truth was that Will needed his family too. He reached up and gently stroked Elizabeth's now tear streaked face. He hadn't seen her cry when he left her the first time, but then they had known the alternative would have meant his dying. This time his leaving would mean nothing but cruelty- to all of them; to himself for being once again torn from his family, to Elizabeth and young Will for his promise to them being broken, and to Bootstrap for causing him to live with the knowledge that he could have given his son his freedom and didn't.

"I can't leave you either, I need you too, both of you." Will whispered to her, shaking his head before turning back to Bootstrap. It pained him to see her cry.

Bootstrap, however, had decided to take matters into his own hands and was headed towards the waves hungrily lapping at the shoreline.

"BOOTSTRAP!"

The man continued his slump shouldered trek towards the water, not ever once indicating that he had heard his son call his name.

"FATHER!"

The sound of his son calling him _father_ for what was the first, only and probably last time in his life stopped him in his tracks. He spun around on his heels to face Will who was advancing on him quickly, with his wife and son not far behind. "William, don't stop me. Don't even try. Just let me do what's right by you for once. Your place is here. I have no place in this world and frankly, I don't deserve one. You kept your promise to me now, _please_, allow me to make amends for my mistakes."

Elizabeth caught up with her husband, grabbed his left hand; managing to stop his forward progress. She remembered what happened ten years earlier the instant his feet touched the waves. She was determined to do whatever was required to keep that from happening again. If that meant restraining him until Bootstrap could reach the water's edge, then so be it. Fortunately, Will made no effort to break free from her hold. He was a strong man and Elizabeth knew that her efforts would have been in vain, but she wasn't giving him up so easily this time. Their son, sensing the unknown reason to keep his father from the entering the water, grasped his father's free hand with both of his. If Will Turner hadn't known before how much he meant to them before, he certainly did now.

The two Turner men stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, before the younger of the two broke the silence.

"Captain Turner, it's not quite sunset. You still have a little time left. Why don't you spend some time with your grandson before you go? He might not have time to waste listening to your stories the next time you see him. He'll be nearly a grown man by then."

"Aye, you're right." Bootstrap nodded and again leaned down to the boy's level. "What say you to that idea?"

Young Will nodded in response, released his grip on his own father's hand and took his grandfather's instead. Will and Elizabeth followed the pair to a flat, sandy section of the beach surrounded by the time and water worn facade of the limestone cliffs and numerous broken slabs of rock that had fallen from them. Each member of the Turner family found a tolerable, if not entirely comfortable, place to sit and listen to Bootstrap relate his multifarious adventures at sea to the boy.

The remaining hours of the afternoon passed quickly. Will was listening intently to Bootstrap's tales when his grandfather stopped mid sentence, looked toward the horizon and got to his feet. "It's almost sunset." he said softly, but with resolve. "I had best be going." He bent over and picked up his grandson. "Will, I want you to be a good boy and do what your parents tell you."

The boy nodded in acquiescence. "I won't forget you, grandfather."

Bootstrap set the boy down and turned to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Turner- Elizabeth." He smiled. "Take care of them."

"I will." She then stood on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I will protect them with my very last breath. Thank you.

"I have no doubt." He then turned to his own son. "William, you know this is the way it has to be."

Will nodded solemnly, "If there were any other way…."

"You know there's not. You broke the curse on the Dead Man's Chest, but the _Dutchman_ still needs a captain. It's my turn now. You have other duties now. Ones that I failed miserably at" he said, as he looked at the boy and his mother standing a few paces away. "They're what's most important in life. I learned that too late for me; don't make the same mistakes I did." He offered his hand to his son.

"I know and I won't. I promise." Will looked at his father's hand, smiled and instead reached up to hug him. "Thank you. Take care. Goodbye. "

Bootstrap was too stunned to react for a second. He had never hugged his own son, nor vice versa. He quickly regained his composure and returned the embrace. He wordlessly released Will, turned and headed towards the surf. He stopped for a moment just shy of the water, turned to look back at his son and his family, smiled, stepped into the waves and vanished.

Will stood on the beach, one arm around his wife's waist, the other on his son's shoulder, and watched as the _Flying Dutchman_, the ship to which he had dedicated ten years of his life, still under the command of a Captain Turner again disappeared into the setting sun.


	7. Going Home

For the second time in twenty-four hours, the Turner family faced the long walk from the beach back to their home. Will and Elizabeth walked hand in hand while their son scampered on ahead of them. This time their journey was not hampered by the anxiety and apprehension that lay between them the day before. Elizabeth had been worried that Will and their son would take much longer to develop an attachment between them, but that had proved to be unfounded. Will had been uneasy about fitting into a life he had never really known, but was now confident in the knowledge that he would have the constant and consistent love and support of his family to help him with the transition. Even this afternoon they had all been worried that Bootstrap would, at the last minute, back out of his promise to take Will's place aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, thus requiring Will to do another ten years of service. But that too had worked out to everyone's satisfaction. Likewise, they no longer had to deal with Will's heart being in the chest, thanks to a most unexpected, nocturnal visit from Calypso. All in all, it had been a very productive day. But now they were completely exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, and were quite eager to be home.

"Will?" Elizabeth asked, as they approached the center of town. He looked at her and immediately recognized the expression on her face. It was the sly half smile she used when she wanted to talk him into something. She continued, "Since Mrs. Lansford is out today, and Brigand ate what was supposed to be our dinner….."

"Can we eat at the tavern?" another voice interrupted.

"Will!" Elizabeth barked. Two faces turned to look at her.

"Well, can we?" The boy asked, sounding ever so hopeful.

"It depends on what your father says."

"I already told him that you can't cook, so that means we can go, right?"

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and glared at her son through narrowed eyes.

"What tavern might you be talking about?" her husband asked cautiously, obviously remembering some of the more colorful establishments that Port Royal boasted or worse yet, some of the ones he had seen in Tortuga. Heaven forbid it be anything like The Faithful Bride

"Ours!" was the dual reply.

"Ours?" Will was puzzled. _Is there no end to the surprises they have in store for me? _

"Yes." Elizabeth answered, "We own a tavern. It's where we feed our ship's crews when they're in port. It's called the Flash of Green."

"Where we feed our _what_?"

Elizabeth flashed a smile, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Crews - from our ships. Surely you've heard of such a thing."

Will narrowed his eyes at her, "Crews, I understand. It's the _our_ ships and _our _tavern part that concern me."

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. "William Turner! Surely you didn't think I spent the last ten years sitting around, hosting tea parties and stitching tapestries?"

The image of that made Will laugh. "I'm sure you didn't. I honestly had no idea which of the tales I heard of Elizabeth Turner were true and which ones were pure fabrication. I just knew I was grateful to have any word of my wife."

"Will?" She looked directly into his eyes. "How did you hear stories about me?" Her voice soft, but hesitant. Although she and Will had managed to spend a few brief moments together, here and there, over the course of their separation, they seldom had talked about what either of them had been doing. Most of their conversations tended to center around their child. Will never tired of hearing of his son's antics, not that Elizabeth blamed him. The boy provided an endless source of amusement for everyone he was around.

He looked away into the distance as if suddenly uncomfortable. His eyes seemed to focus on something far away that only he could see. "Sometimes," he started, then stopped. His expression gave the impression that he was trying to recall some long forgotten bit of information. "Sometimes when we…." He shook his head as if redirecting himself to this place and this time. He gave Elizabeth a faint smile as his gaze returned to her. "I can't. Not yet. Maybe someday, but not today" he said with a resigned sigh. "I don't want to think about that now."

She gave him a faint nod. "I understand. You don't have to talk about it. Forgive me for asking."

"There's nothing to forgive. I just need to focus on what's ahead, is all."

"And what might that be?"

"I don't know. I think – I think I was afraid to anticipate anything beyond today."

"You knew I would be waiting."

"Yes, I never doubted that." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, all thoughts of ships, crews and taverns now forgotten. "It was finding someone to take my place that concerned me. Had it not been for my father…" his voice trailed off yet again.

Elizabeth reached up and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. She knew he had to have a lot on his mind. They were both out of practice with having someone to share all their hopes and fears at any hour of any day. "Will, we both- _no_, all _three_ of us - have to keep looking ahead. If we dwell on what we've already come through and the unfairness of it all, we'll never make it."

"I know." Will looked around at the people walking up and down the street. "Speaking of three of us, where is William the third?"

Elizabeth gave a most unladylike snort as she turned to scan their fellow pedestrians. "There." She inclined her head, indicating a point somewhere behind Will and to his left. "He's found one of his friends. I can only imagine what he's telling him."

"He must have an incredible reputation as a storyteller. A veritable Mr. Gibbs in training, as it were." The boy's father rolled his eyes at that thought.

"Too bad no one believes him," she said slyly.

"That might not be such a bad thing."

Elizabeth simply stared into her husband's eyes for a moment - it was as easy as ever for her to get completely lost in them. She then stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

Will's former persona of morally righteous and socially proper citizen of Port Royal briefly resurfaced, as he pulled back from her ever so slightly. "Elizabeth, we're in the middle of town square. What are people going to say?"

"They're going to say, 'Oh look! There's Mrs. Turner. Who _is_ that dashing rogue with her? Could it be her long lost husband back from sea?' Or, at least, something to that effect." With that, she slid her hand up to the back of his neck and pulled him back to her.

Elizabeth had a long-standing tradition of not adhering to society's norms. Her sense of propriety and Will's had seldom, if ever, matched. Why should Will have expected any different now? Besides, hadn't they both learned a very hard lesson about trying to live up to someone else's rules? The very fact that they had even been allowed to play together as children was a major violation of what was considered proper given their vastly different social standing. Why should he care what people thought of him kissing his wife in public? This time he didn't resist as she pulled him to her. He eagerly returned the kiss; one that spoke not only of the tender affection between the newly reunited pair, but also of promises of what lay ahead.

"Miss Swann? inquired a decidedly familiar, but long unheard voice. The voice of a person who was either completely oblivious to or completely unconcerned about the rather private moment she was interrupting.

Elizabeth was too focused on her husband to notice the intrusion. Will apparently didn't notice either. They were both eager for something more that would have to wait until later, someplace more private, someplace without prying eyes, someplace without a nine year old boy under foot.

Again, "Elizabeth Swann? Is that you? I haven't seen you in ages, but seeing as how I just returned to Port Royal myself, that's not at all surprising," continued the unfortunate intruder, gloriously unaware that she was intruding on a long awaited and well deserved moment of tenderness, between the woman she was addressing, and the man accompanying her. "And who might this be?"

The speaker's voice broke into Elizabeth's reverie. She reluctantly pulled away from Will, noting as she did, that his eyes remained closed as if savoring every second of what had transpired between them. Yes, she was going to quite like having him back.

"Miss Swann? Can't you hear me?" This time the speaker's voice was much more strident.

Elizabeth turned towards the speaker. "It's Mrs. – Estrella?"

Will's eyes blinked open at the tone of shock and surprise in Elizabeth's voice.

"Yes, ma'am. You do remember me! And is this fine gentleman your husband?" Estrella looked Will up and down as if she were evaluating prize livestock. Elizabeth shot Estrella a slightly annoyed look, but as with everything else, Estrella either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge it. "Why, Will Turner! I thought they long since hanged you! And you, Miss Swann - I mean _Mrs. _Turner," she said, accompanied by a conspiratorial wink. "I heard you had returned to England with your father, the good Governor."

Will looked slightly annoyed - whether from Estrella's overt and indecorous appraisal of him, her ill-timed interruption, her hapless outburst, or all of it was impossible to tell. He hadn't seen Elizabeth's former maidservant since shortly after their engagement. The sight of her evoked some vague recollection of her leaving her position in the Governor's household, getting married and having a baby all in an unseemly short amount of time. Elizabeth had frequently described her as being too bold. Will had just thought her flighty and somewhat of an alarmist. He nodded his head in greeting. "Estrella."

Elizabeth, while happy to see her former maid and sometimes confidante, was a bit taken aback by Estrella's outpourings. "My father has been gone more than ten years now. He was murdered." Elizabeth's voice cracked and she winced as she said it. After all this time it still hurt for her to say it. "I thought you had gone to the colonies with your husband" she asked while trying to regain her composure. Will slid his arm around his wife's waist in a subtle attempt to comfort her.

"Aye, I did, but he's gone now; lost at sea, he was - gone to Davy Jones' locker with the devil himself." She didn't exactly sound too heartbroken over her announcement.

Elizabeth shot a quick glance at Will, who just shrugged slightly, then looked away. Estrella didn't notice, so intent was she on relating her tale of misfortune and woe. Elizabeth was tempted to correct Estrella's misconception about the nature of the infamous locker, but decided against it. That idea carried with it the potential for too many unwanted questions that neither Turner wanted to answer – ever.

"He left me with three brats, nowhere to go, and a fourth one on the way." She patted her swollen midsection. "I came back here to live with my sister and to find some way of supporting the little ones." It was apparent from the look on her face that she had just gotten, what she thought, to be a fabulous idea. "You and Mr. Turner wouldn't by any chance need a housekeeper or a governess would you? How many little Turners are there?"

"Just the one, a boy, William, like his father." Elizabeth looked back at Will, who continued to look anywhere, except directly at Estrella. She couldn't decide if he was trying to ignore her or if he was merely watching his son at play. Either way, it didn't matter.

The erstwhile maid looked disapprovingly at the Turners as if she couldn't imagine how it was possible that they had but one child. She distinctly remembered Elizabeth choosing prospective names for her and Will's potential offspring. It would have been impossible to use them all.

"Estrella, we don't need anyone else to work in our household with just the three of us and all, but there might be a position for you at our tavern. We were just heading there now for a bite to eat. Would you care to join us? Where are your children?" Elizabeth had noticed the obvious absence of a set of children fitting the probable age requirements of Estrella's.

Will's attention snapped back to the conversation at the mention of Estrella joining the family for dinner, but he still did not speak - although he was curious as to why an obviously expectant widow was out alone with dark fast approaching.

"Thank you, Miss. I would like that very much. And as for me children, they're with my sister this fine evening." Estrella sounded a bit uncomfortable. "I had an appointment earlier and they can be such a bother."

Elizabeth wondered what sort of appointment Estrella would be tending to this late in the evening. She also took offense at the suggestion that children were a bother. She had dreamed of a large family, but thus far, that opportunity had been denied her. It was one of the few things that still aroused both anger and regret when she thought of all she and Will had been put through. Elizabeth also understood, at that instant, what was bothering Will. Estrella's husband had to have drowned fairly recently, but wasn't as if Will could have known who he was, nor could he have sent him back. Now she fully understood his earlier reluctance to tell her how he knew of her accomplishments during their decade apart. The ordeal must have been horrific for him, but she knew that all she could do was to wait and allow him to share what, when, and if, he chose.

"WILLIAM!" Will broke his silence, startling both women, as he called to the small collection of young boys that had now gathered around his son to listen to his tales. "Let's go!"

A brown head popped to attention. He waved goodbye to his audience and ran back to his parents; skidding to a halt and squeezing in between them when he got there. "Who are you?"

"William!" his mother admonished, "that was rude."

"Yes, ma'am, it was." He looked up at his mother then to woman standing with his parents. He bowed slightly. "Good evening ma'am, I'm Will Turner. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Hello, Master Turner. I'm Estrella. I used to be your mother's maid when she lived in the Governor's mansion."

"Are you going to have a baby? I keep asking mother for a little brother, but she said we had to wait until my father came home and then we would see."

"William!" his mother hissed. His father made a choking sound.

His face fell. "Was I rude again?" he asked, ""I'm sorry."

Estrella was not at all shocked by the boy's impertinence; he was, after all, Elizabeth's son. "It's quite all right. Yes, I'm going to have another little one in about four more months." The mention of the elder Will Turner's return made Estrella even more curious as to why the Turners only had the one child. Had she not heard Elizabeth talk incessantly about her impending marriage and all of the plans they had? Surely they wouldn't have spent an extended period of time apart by choice?

The trio of adults, Will still walking hand in hand with Elizabeth, followed after young Will on the short walk to the Flash of Green. The elaborately painted wooden sign hanging above the entrance creaked ever so softly, as it rocked back and forth, in the tranquil breeze, blowing in from the harbor. Will knew instantly that the image, so painstakingly created on the placard was no accident. It clearly showed ghost-like ship sailing in to a cliff rimmed harbor at sunset. Two human figures, so small as to hardly be noticed, stood sentinel on the escarpment. The entire image was awash with a translucent green light.

Elizabeth scanned Will's face for a reaction. His faint, but untroubled smile told her all she needed to know. Had anyone known the truth behind his absence, and the conditions regarding his return, the declaration of Elizabeth's faith in him was there for everyone to see.

Estrella squinted at the board and shuddered. "That looks like that accursed ship of Davy Jones'. I've seen it, I have. Nigh onto eleven years ago now. It came up from the sea like it had been spit back from hell. It blasted the ship what was following us, and every man aboard, to oblivion." Estrella crossed herself. "Then it plunged back under the waves as if it had never been there at all."

Will's unease and slight annoyance with Estrella was now readily apparent to Elizabeth, but she had no doubt that the gregarious matron was completely and blissfully incognizant of that fact. It did, at least, explain his sudden reticence. Elizabeth made up her mind to make this particular dinner party as brief as civility would allow. "Shall we?" She invited Estrella to enter.

Holding the door for the two women and his son to enter, Will rolled his eyes at his wife. Elizabeth successfully contained a knowing smirk and comment, but only just. "I'll try to make this quick" she mouthed to him. That earned her a raised eyebrow. "I love you," she again mouthed - whether by way of apology or as explanation was not clear. This time she warranted a full blown smile and nod.

Again taking her hand in his, Will lowered his head to where only she could hear him. "It's a good thing, or else…." his voice trailed off as they made their way inside.


	8. At the Flash of Green

While outside looked like any other tavern, inside of the Flash of Green was quite unlike the average drinking establishment found in most seaports. The clientele seemed to be an equal split between honest, hardworking sailors and tradesmen from Port Royal, often with their families in tow; certainly not the type of establishment frequented by Jack Sparrow and his cronies. The interior was clean and well lit with numerous oil lamps, candelabras and chandeliers scattered about the room. The few remaining rays of daylight shone through the numerous leaded windowpanes on street side wall bathing the tables and patrons near the entrance with a pearly golden glow. Rows of sturdy wooden tables lined both sides of the room. The walls appeared to have been recently whitewashed. A neat and orderly bar filled up most of the rear section, with a multitude of oak kegs of varying sizes and contents lining the wall behind. There were doors leading out the back and to each side of the open room. A staircase in the corner led up to the guest rooms. The nearly hidden door behind the staircase served as an entrance to the private quarters of the publican and his family. Missing was the deafening noise of a crowd on the verge of a brawl. Most notably absent was the lingering odor of unwashed bodies, stale ale, vomit, and various other sundry waste products. Instead the air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly prepared food – good food at that. Its tantalizing aroma permeated the air. This was most assuredly not a tavern one would find in Tortuga.

Strategically located behind the bar, where he could keep an eye on his stock, his employees and his clients, was a man who had to be the resident barkeep. Nathaniel Cavanaugh, despite his age and physical impediments, was still an imposing figure. He was quite tall, taller than Will even, and barrel chested. His once brown hair was now mostly gray, but a few wisps of its original color were visible scattered here and there. His hazel eyes looked out from a face that was well weathered from a lifetime spent at sea. However, the leg that he had broken during a battle had never healed properly, leaving him with a pronounced limp and found life as a tavern keeper was far more appealing than the sea these days. He had embraced that life once, but now that he was older he was grateful to find less strenuous employment.

As soon as he spied the tavern's owner, he stopped drying the freshly washed mugs and hobbled out from behind the bar. It was not all that unusual for Elizabeth Turner and her son to come in for supper, most especially when their housekeeper/cook had a day off. What _was _unusual was that they had arrived with company. The obviously pregnant woman with them could easily be a prospective household employee, but the man by her side was another story all together. While Elizabeth always insisted that her husband was simply away at sea for an extended period, the general consensus of the townspeople was that she was, in fact, a widow. And yet, here she was: walking hand in hand with a tall, unsmiling and slightly wary looking man who could have passed for a larger version of her son.

"Good evening, Mrs. Turner, William. Might you be joining us for a bite to eat this evening?"

"Mr. Cavanaugh!" Elizabeth said brightly, "it's so nice to see you this evening. Why yes, we will be dining here tonight. Mrs. Lansford has the day off and well….." she shrugged as her voice dragged off.

"Very good. I do believe the missus made shepherd's pie this evening. Please join my family for supper. I'll just tell my wife to set some extra places." Nathaniel wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to find out more about the man with Mrs. Turner. Interesting gossip was always good for business. Gossip about Mrs. Turner could be especially profitable. Even Nathaniel, who had known of her for several years, no longer knew which tales were true and which were pure fabrication. He _did_, however, know from his own experience that she had, undoubtedly, led a rather interesting life.

According to local tales, her family had been minor nobility in England, but she had been raised in Jamaica while her father served as Governor of the island. Many people claimed that she had at one time been captured by pirates, but Nathaniel couldn't imagine her having survived an experience like that unscathed. It was also said she had broken an engagement to a Commodore of the Royal Navy to instead marry the blacksmith's apprentice, but they both had disappeared before they married. It didn't matter if not one single part of the stories were true. They had served their purpose in making Elizabeth Turner a popular topic of discussion and speculation. All Nathaniel knew for sure, was that she had returned to Port Royal three years earlier, the owner of an already well established shipping company, and with her six-year-old son in tow.

Will spoke up, "Oh no, we don't want to intrude on your family - whatever you're serving in the tavern will be fine."

Nathaniel was caught off guard by the quiet authority in Will's tone. This was a man who was used to giving orders and used to having them obeyed immediately, without question. It was a quality that Nathaniel knew could only come from years of experience as a leader of men. There was no one this could be but the elusive Captain Turner. Nathaniel had often wondered what kind of man would willingly leave behind a wife as beautiful as Elizabeth Turner; that in and of itself was enough to convince him that her husband was dead. While Nathaniel had only been in her employ since her return to Port Royal three years earlier, he had heard that her husband had been missing for much longer. There had to be a story there and he was determined to find out what it was.

"But you must, it's not every day we're graced by the presence of the entire Turner family," Nathaniel insisted, addressing Will, and thereby taking the chance that he was indeed correct about the man's identity. "I won't have it any other way."

Will looked at Elizabeth not sure what to do next. He was beginning to feel that the harder he tried to spend time with _just _his wife and son, the less likely that was to happen. Elizabeth nodded, ever so slightly, to him. If Nathaniel noticed, he certainly didn't show any indication of it. Will considered his options. Truthfully he was relieved to have an excuse to avoid the crowded hall. It was impossible not to notice the number of people who were either openly staring at him or rudely pointing him out to their companions. He certainly did not look out of place here, but the mere fact that Elizabeth had come in with him was enough to attract people's attention. He had known it would be difficult, but he had hoped to ease himself back into this life. It was readily apparent that the good people of Port Royal were not interested in allowing him to slip back into Elizabeth's life relatively unnoticed.

"Very well" Will responded, nodding his head both in agreement to Mr. Cavanaugh's invitation, and in acknowledgement to his wife's unspoken advice. Elizabeth gently squeezed his hand, letting him know he had chosen the right course for this particular situation.

"Mr. Cavanaugh, I do have a favor to ask." Elizabeth gestured toward their guest. "This is Estrella Rubino; she was part of my father's household staff. She is recently widowed and has returned to Port Royal seeking gainful employment. I would be most appreciative if you could find her a position here at the tavern."

Estrella curtseyed as best she could, given the ungainly bulk of her pregnancy and offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir. And it's Estrella Brantley now. It has been for years." She cast a glance at Elizabeth. "I don't recall if Miss Swann – I mean Mrs. Turner ever had the pleasure of meeting my dear departed husband." She looked back at Mr. Cavanaugh and gave him her biggest smile. "I would be quite grateful to have the opportunity to work here. It would allow me to find a place of my own and take care of my other children. "

Nathaniel had to think fast. It would never do to reject a particular request of the tavern's owner. But employing a woman who was obviously expecting and a widow to boot was not exactly how things were done. Then again, Elizabeth Turner didn't put much stock in what other people thought - so what could be the harm?

"Ay, I expect Mrs. Cavanaugh would be gratified to have some help about the kitchens." Nathaniel conceded. _At least that would keep her out of view for the time being. There's no use starting a scandal by having a pregnant woman working there. It would be bad for business. _"Mayhap she can start showing you about this evening? We seem to have quite a crowd."

Had he been able to do so without being caught, Will would have rolled his eyes at this exchange. Elizabeth had always said that Estrella had a gift for getting people to do what she wanted. She had obviously perfected it. He wondered what the as yet unmet Mrs. Cavanaugh was going to think when she found out that not only did she have unplanned dinner guests, but she also had a new assistant – an assistant who wasn't known for having any grace under pressure and could talk your ear off while she was at it. If nothing else, he was grateful that Elizabeth had not offered her a position in _their_ household. He didn't know if he would have been able to stand it for long. He was already uneasy about meeting what staff the family did have. He made a mental note to ask Elizabeth about how much they knew of his absence and return, when they got home that evening. They had to be returning tomorrow, or else young Will's dire prediction that they would all starve to death might actually come to pass. Then again, it wasn't as if he hadn't known of Elizabeth's shortcomings in certain domestic matters when he married her.

The door behind the staircase banged open, and a pair of boys raced though. They were obviously brothers and members of the Cavanaugh family; neither one of them could have been older than ten. Close on their heels was a woman every bit as petite and blonde as her husband was stocky and swarthy. It would be impossible to picture anyone who appeared less suited to be Nathaniel's wife than Laura Cavanaugh. But as with many things, looks could be, and in this case, were deceiving. The tavern may have been under the auspices of Mr. Cavanaugh, but it didn't take long to figure out who keep the family in line.

"Jonathan! Robert! Both of you stop and come back here this instant!" the woman said loud enough for them to understand that she meant what she said, but not so loud as to disturb the customers.

Both boys skidded to a stop at the sound of their mother's voice and the sight of their father blocking their path. They both knew better than to misbehave in front of Mrs. Turner. She _did _own the tavern where they lived and its accompanying buildings after all. Besides, if Mrs. Turner was there, then Will probably was too. The three boys were best of friends and frequently got into mischief together.

"Laura!" Nathaniel said to his wife, taking advantage of her sudden appearance. "I've invited _Captain _and Mrs. Turner to join us for supper. And William too, of course," his last statement directed to his own two sons who were so busy staring at Will that they hadn't yet noticed their friend.

Laura Cavanaugh quickly covered her shock at her husband's announcement. She didn't mind guests for dinner - there was never a shortage of food at the tavern - but she had never believed that Elizabeth's husband was still alive. Yet here he stood. "That would be lovely."

Will had noticed both Nathaniel's emphasis on who he was and his wife's ever so brief surprised expression. He supposed he had no choice but to learn to tolerate people's reactions to his unexpected reappearance. Elizabeth hadn't even told William of his imminent return until just a few hours before it happened, so what really could he expect from people that were total strangers to him?

"Oh! And I nearly forgot! This is Estrella Brantley. I've just hired her to help you in the kitchens. Mrs. Turner recommended her. I thought she and her children could live in the maid's quarters," Nathaniel offered. A casual observer would have thought he was merely imparting some information to his wife. A careful observer would realize that he was seeking approval for his actions.

Laura looked Estrella up and down, noting her obvious pregnancy. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Yes ma'am. My mother taught me. She was a cook in Governor's Swann's household."

"But did _you_ work in the kitchens too?"

"No ma'am. I was Miss Swann's - I mean, Mrs. Turner's ladies maid until I left her service. I've run my own household since then. But now I find myself widowed with no means to support myself or my three children – four, counting this one. I very much appreciate the offer of work and lodging for myself and me family," she explained as she rubbed her belly.

Elizabeth glanced at Will. She could tell by the expression on his face that he thought Estrella was laying it on a bit thick. He looked back at his wife and raised an eyebrow. He would have a comment on this later, she was sure of that.

"I suppose it can't hurt to hire you on some sort of probationary status" Laura conceded. She turned to her two children. "Boys, you too William, go wash up for supper. And no horseplay! I want all three of you to return cleaner than when you left" she added.

"Good luck with that" Will muttered under his breath.

Elizabeth smirked at his comment. She couldn't decide if Will was learning how quickly and easily his son got into trouble, or if he realized how much alike they were and knew what to expect. She looked at him trying to figure out what he was thinking, took his hand and followed the Cavanaugh's through the door and into their dining room. He at very least had the slightest hint of a smile on his face now. While that didn't exactly answer her question, it was a marked improvement over his earlier look of annoyance with the whole proceeding.

Laura turned to Estrella and addressed her in a tone which made it clear who was the boss at the Flash of Green, "Estrella - I can call you Estrella, can't I? -why don't you follow me? I'll show you the cook house, and you can help me carry supper in. I'll also point out where your quarters will be. We can have someone move your things in tomorrow." Turning to her husband she continued "You will have to set the table with extra places being as you're the one who invited our guests – our most welcome guests," she quickly added before heading out the door.

Nathaniel acknowledged his wife's mandate with a nod of his head and set about his assigned task all the while pondering possible ways of worming information out of the Turner family about the Captain's extended absence and sudden return.

Will put his arm around Elizabeth's waist and surveyed the room. He was on seriously unfamiliar ground here. Having her physically as close to him as possible was reassuring. Besides, it had been far too long since he had been able to do something so simple as showing affection for his wife. He wasn't about to let any opportunities to do so slip from his grasp. The room was small, but well appointed. A large table surrounded by eight chairs dominated the area, four more chairs were pushed off to the side. Will had only seen the two boys, but that didn't mean there weren't other children lurking about the premises. An oversized hutch and sideboard, housing the table service and other odds and ends, rested along one wall. Nathaniel was currently removing a rather large stack of plates from one of the shelves.

"Miss Elizabeth?" a tiny voice asked as she tugged at Elizabeth's sleeve.

Elizabeth looked down to see Moira, the Cavanaugh's five-year-old daughter standing there. Her long blond hair hung neatly down her back in a thick braid, her bright blue eyes shown with the excitement that only a child could manage. She had entered the room so quietly that no one, not even her father, had noticed her - a skill no doubt perfected while spying on two older brothers.

"Miss Elizabeth," the girl repeated, "are you going to eat supper with us tonight?" Moira looked around the room. A look of disappointment formed on her face as she didn't find what she was looking for. Her tiny brow wrinkled in confusion as she took note of Will standing at Elizabeth's side.

Elizabeth smiled down at the girl as she leaned down closer to her level. Will reluctantly released her from his embrace as she did so.

"William is outside with your brothers. They're washing up."

Moira's expression brightened at the mention of young Will, but her attention was still focused on the strange man.

Elizabeth noticed the girl's curious stare as she straightened back up. "Moira, this is William's father – Captain Turner."

The little girl beamed up at him and curtseyed. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Moira Colleen Cavanaugh. Please - make yourself at home," she said as she waved her arm around the room in what was a rough approximation of a welcoming gesture.

Will's face broke into a grin, his eyes sparkled with silent laughter as he gave Moira a tiny bow and responded as seriously as he could. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Cavanaugh."

Nathaniel chuckled to himself. "Can you tell that her mother has been teaching her to be the proper little hostess already?"

"I see nothing wrong with that," Elizabeth replied cheerfully to the girl's father. She then turned her attention back to Moira. "If I had a little girl, I think I would do the same thing."

Will coughed as he tried to cut off a laugh. Surely Elizabeth was joking? She had balked at learning every ladylike skill her father insisted she learn as a child, instead preferring to play pirate and fight with wooden swords. Of course, he would never deny that the latter had served her far better than the former ever had or probably ever would. Should they ever have a daughter of their own he couldn't imagine Elizabeth being all that concerned with her learning how to properly serve tea and whatnot. Actually, the idea of a miniature Elizabeth running around the house did sound somewhat appealing.

"You should have a little girl. Will told me when his father came home he wanted a little brother, but I think he needs a little sister so I'll have someone to play with. There are too many boys here," Moira announced as if she had long since planned out how this should work. Her expression and tone were quite serious for a girl her age.

"MOIRA! Don't bother Captain and Mrs. Turner!" Laura proclaimed loudly as she came back in the room, carrying a large crockery dish of what smelled like the shepherd's pie Nathaniel had mentioned earlier. There was no sign of Estrella. She set the dish on the table and faced the Turners. "I do apologize for her being so forward. I'll have to talk to her about that."

"That's quite all right. I think William is the one we need to talk to. He seems quite intent on letting everyone know he wants a brother," Elizabeth responded, all the while studiously avoiding looking at her husband. In truth, she wanted more children too, but she would much rather have discussed it with him first.

"I do believe he told Estrella the same thing earlier," added Will taking in Elizabeth's slight embarrassment. "By the way, where is she?" He looked around puzzled.

"Oh! I nearly forgot. I sent her home with food for herself and her children. Nathaniel? I sent one of the stable boys with her. It's too late for a young woman in her condition – or any condition for that matter – to be out by herself. And the children? She could stand to be a bit more concerned about their welfare instead of joining a dinner party. Mind you, that just my opinion, but still. I told her we would send someone in the morning to help her collect her belongings and get her settled in, _then_ she can start to work."

Will marveled at the fact that she had apparently said all that in a single breath. Laura Cavanaugh was clearly a woman who knew how to take charge of a situation. If Will had to guess he would say that Elizabeth had hired the family more for Laura's skills than those of her husband. From what he had seen so far the decision had been a wise one, whatever the motivation behind it.

"Where are those boys? They've been gone far too long for what they were sent to do," Laura announced as she headed back towards the door that lead to the rear courtyard.

"Moira, why don't you take the pitcher and go help your mother get some water? You can help round up your brothers and William too," Nathaniel suggested.

The little girl's face lit up as she skipped off in the direction her mother had gone.

"They should be back in momentarily. Why don't we go ahead and sit down? Captain Turner, why don't you take my seat at the head of the table?"

"No," Will responded, a bit too sternly. "I would hate to impose and besides, I would much rather sit by my wife. We've been apart too long" he added in a distinctly more relaxed tone. He looked at Elizabeth, after a moment's hesitation he took her hand in his, lifted it up and kissed it.

Elizabeth smiled and looked longingly back at Will. Had she been able to concoct a plausible reason for them to leave at that moment to go home she would have. How had her plans to spend Will's first day back with just the three of them gone so awry?

Nathaniel watched the pair. He did think it a bit unusual for a couple that had been married for at least ten years to still be that affectionate with each other in public. He and Laura had been married just a few years longer than that and they certainly hadn't ever been as affectionate with each other as the Turner's were and most certainly not when there were other people around. Their actions did nothing to rein in his eagerness to learn more details of the Captain's absence.

Just then, Laura and Moira reentered the room, herding three very clean, but very wet boys in front of them. All three bore the remorseful look commonly associated with a recent scolding. Moira looked rather smug. Laura was still obviously annoyed with them as she directed them towards their seats.

Will noticed his father seated to Mr. Cavanaugh's right. His mother had taken the next seat down. He was disappointed he couldn't sit next to his father, but he knew that now was not the time, or the place, to make an issue of it; most especially in light of his recent reprimand – a reprimand that he well deserved. He was sure that he would be chided again for his ill manners once they got home. Then again, maybe his father would remember what it was like to be nine and intercede on his behalf. He could hope, couldn't he?

As soon as everyone was seated, Nathaniel said grace. Laura then began waiting everyone's plates. Jonathan, the older of the Cavanaugh boys, was put in charge of filling the tankards with water. It seemed to Will that everyone in the family was in training to take over some part of the business in the future. But then again, that's how things normally worked. Despite his own slightly unorthodox upbringing, and apprenticeship as a blacksmith, even he had inadvertently followed in his father's footsteps. It made him wonder what path his son would eventually follow.

"So, Captain Turner, when did you return?" asked Nathaniel.

"Late yesterday. My ship was passing near Port Royal and it was time for me to come home."

"Didn't the _Aztec Gold_ make port yesterday? I didn't realize you were its captain."

"I'm not."

"Excuse me?"

Will realized his near mistake and quickly amended his answer. "I'm not a sea captain anymore. I'm staying home now. I missed my family too much."

"I see. I've only known your family for three years now, but I don't recall anyone ever mentioning you even coming home for a visit. I imagine after that long you would begin to miss them."

It was clear from Nathaniel's tone that he was trying to pry into Will's past. Will however had dealt with far more accomplished opponents than Nathaniel Cavanaugh and felt sure he could make it through this conversation without either giving away more information than he wanted or lying to the man. If it came down to it, he would lie to protect his family, but it had never been, and never would be, an easy thing for him to do.

"I was unavoidably detained on my voyage. Elizabeth knew I would be back and I know she can take care of herself. I returned the second I was able to."

Elizabeth toyed with the food on her plate. Will was handling himself admirably. Everything he had said thus far had been the truth. He had never admitted that he had not been aboard the _Aztec Gold. _He obviously hadn't lost any of his talent for letting people read into things what they wanted. She knew they had Jack and Captain Barbossa to thank for teaching them both some very valuable lessons concerning that particular skill. Elizabeth put her fork down and inserted herself into the conversation. "I'm tired of running the shipping company by myself. Will is going to help me now. Besides, William here needs time with his father. We were all ready and anxious for Will to come home." She put her left hand flat on his upper arm and gripped his lower arm with her right in a decidedly possessive gesture.

Will reached his left hand over to cover hers and turned his face towards her. He noticed William watching him, his face impassive as if he had heard his parent's explanation a million times before and would probably hear it a million times more. Will gave him a quick wink. William responded with an equally quick smile.

Laura Cavanaugh was well aware of her husband's nosy nature and decided he had delved into the Turner's personal business more than enough for one evening. She was also adept enough to realize that the couple would probably appreciate some time to themselves after having spent so much time apart. She knew it had been at least three years, but rumors abounded that it had been as much as ten – maybe longer. She couldn't imagine having to live without Nathaniel for that long. Besides, there would be time later to learn more.

"William? You have your lessons in the mornings don't you? Why don't you come spend the afternoon with the boys tomorrow?" Laura offered.

The youngest Turner briefly considered his options. He didn't get the chance to go off and spend the afternoon playing all that often - his mother tended to keep him close by. But he really wanted to spend more time with his father. As with any young boy, the chance to play won out.

"Mother, may I?" he asked.

"No, not tomorrow. You have lessons in the afternoon too. You have to make up for the ones you missed today," Elizabeth answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

"But, please?" he pleaded.

"William, your mother said no," his father said, the quiet authority in his voice once again apparent.

The boy started as his father's pronouncement. His mother's word was law so he had held no real hopes of her relenting; but he had hoped that his father wouldn't be quite so strict. Or at least not about things like school – not when there were other important and interesting things to do like learning to handle a sword or go sailing.

"Yes, sir," he sighed in disappointment.

Will immediately felt guilty about disappointing his son. He knew he would have to get over that, but right now he could only handle one thing at a time. Elizabeth had said it would take time to learn to be a parent. "Maybe the day after tomorrow would work? If that's agreeable to your mother and Mrs. Cavanaugh, of course?" He looked from one woman to another in inquiry.

"That would be fine with me," Laura replied.

"I think that would be quite nice," Elizabeth agreed, but all the while thinking what would be the nicest was that it would give her some time alone with her husband, and that William's play date was just an added bonus.

"Speaking of lessons in the morning, doesn't someone need to get home to bed? I seem to recall someone being up very early and having quite a busy day," Will mentioned as he caught his son mid yawn.

"I think you're quite right about that," Elizabeth added as she brushed her finger down her son's nose.

"I know some boys who need to get up early to do their chores in the morning too, so calling it a night sounds like a perfect idea," agreed Laura.

Nathaniel and Laura left their children to clear the table as they led the Turners back out into the main room of the tavern. There had been but a few empty tables when they came in, but now there were none. Business was obviously booming. Will and Elizabeth thanked the Cavanaugh family for their hospitality as the two families said their goodbyes.

It had been another long day for the Turners and they were grateful to be headed back to their own home. They walked the short distance from the Flash of Green to their home in near total silence. Younger Will carried a lantern, borrowed from Mr. Cavanaugh, to light their way. His parents followed close behind, hand in hand.

The family entered the compound through the small garden gate that opened out onto the street. The pale gray and white pavers that formed the pathway between the gate and the main house reflected both the moonlight and the light from the lantern giving them an almost magical glow. No matter how inviting the path may appear, the sight of the monstrous black dog waiting at the opposite end would cause anyone to think twice before proceeding -anyone other than the dog's master and parents that is. Much to Will's relief there was no longer any sign of the wariness that Brigand had shown towards him that morning. It was as if the dog had decided that this man belonged here and therefore, also warranted his protection.

Upon entering the house, Elizabeth began lighting the candles in the candelabra on the dining table. It would suffice to light their way up the stairs and to light the night candles in their rooms. She was exhausted and knew the rest of her family must be too. William set the basket on the table, sat in a chair and slumped over with his head resting on his arms. Will blew out the lantern and set it down as he stood there at a complete loss what to do.

Elizabeth finished lighting the candles and leaned down to look at her son. "Just as I thought. You're going to have to carry him," she announced as she looked up at Will.

"Hmmm?"

"He's asleep."

"Already?" he asked incredulously.

"Welcome to the world of having a nine-year-old son. When they run out of steam, they just drop where they are," she laughed.

"I wasn't like that," Will said with mock indignation.

"I'm sure your mother would say differently."

Will flashed her a grin. "Probably. I guess I should have asked her when I had the chance."

Elizabeth frowned slightly at her husband's slightly odd response, but opted to not question it right then. They would have time for that later. Right now they had to get their son up to his room, preferably without waking him.

Will scooped up his son. Elizabeth was right. He had just collapsed. It was like trying to pick up an oversized rag doll. He followed Elizabeth up the stairs. This was the second night in a row he had carried the boy up to his room. He sincerely hoped he would have many more chances to do the same before William either got too old or too heavy for him to pick him up. It was yet another item on the long list of things he wanted to make up for.

Elizabeth opened the door to the bedroom and lit the night candle as Will laid their son on the bed. The boy immediately curled up on his left side in a tight ball with his right arm pulled tightly across his chest. It almost looked as if he were trying to ward off a blow. Elizabeth sat down on the edge of the bed and started taking off her son's shoes and socks. She noticed the odd expression on Will's face as he watched his son sleep and wondered what he was thinking. She wanted to ask, but decided against it. If he wanted to share his thoughts with her, he would. No matter how curious she was, she knew it was best to not push him. He would open up when he was ready. He always had.

"I'm going to just let him sleep in his clothes tonight," she said softy, as she stood up. Will turned to her, but did not speak. She picked up the candelabra with one hand and reached out to Will with the other. "I think I know someone else who's had a long day and is ready for bed."

Will took her hand in his and followed her out of the room. He used his free hand to close the door to William's bedroom quietly.

"You don't have to be quite so careful. He can sleep through anything."

"Can he now?" Will asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper. One eyebrow raised questioningly as a sly smile crept across his face.

Elizabeth turned to face him, noticed the look of invitation on his face and returned it with one of her own. She began to back down the hallway towards their bedroom, leading Will by the hand. "Would I be correct in assuming you're not all that tired?"

Will stepped forward to close the gap between them. He wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her passionately.

Elizabeth sighed. "I'm going to take that as a yes."


	9. Estrella's Tale

Estrella graciously accepted the cloth covered basket of food that Laura Cavanaugh offered. The savory aroma of the promised shepard's pie intermingled with the scent of something cooked with fruit and spices made her salivate. A freshly baked baguette peeked from under one end of the pristine linen napkin. Judging by the basket's weight there was far more packed inside than she knew – quite possibly more food than Estrella's tiny family normally saw in a week. She was honestly quite relieved when her new employer had gently suggested she pass on the dinner invitation with the Turners and instead take supper home to her children. It grieved her to think about it, but this was going to be the only meal they would have today- as was often the case. Estrella had accepted the invitation on impulse, but had immediately felt guilty at the idea of returning to her three children with a full stomach and nothing to offer them.

Given more time she was sure she could have fabricated yet another plausible explanation to excuse herself from the invitation, but the tale she had begun to spin for the Turners was already getting too complex as it was. The further she got from the truth the more likely it was she would make a mistake – one that could potentially have dire consequences for her family. It was perhaps best that she take her leave while she could. Given the recent change of events – a new and most unexpected employment opportunity combined with Will Turner's sudden reappearance - she desperately needed some time to rethink her next step. Her original plan of appealing to Elizabeth for help as one widow to another certainly wouldn't work now.

The barkeep of the Flash of Green, Laura's husband, Nathaniel Cavanaugh, was gracious enough to send an escort – a stable hand actually - with Estrella when she left the tavern. The awkward looking boy with the shock of bright red hair couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen at most – hardly the most fearsome of protectors, but it was better than nothing. Whether this act of kindness was a natural part of his and his wife's personalities or had merely been a show put on for the benefit of the tavern's owners she did not know. Honestly, she did not really care. While Port Royal was far safer than it had been when she had left over a decade earlier, it was still not the kind of place that a woman alone would walk after dark if she had any other choice.

The boy's youth was another unforeseen stroke of luck for Estrella in an already quite unusual day – for it meant that he either had not lived in Port Royal for long or had been too young to know all the gossip, rumors and tales of what had happened from the time her former mistress was kidnapped by pirates until now. She most certainly had no desire to indulge anyone's curiosity about her time in Elizabeth's service - likewise any prying about any of their unintentional departures from the island. The fewer questions she had to answer about her own whereabouts during that time the better. Truthfully, she had thus far only managed to learn bits and pieces of what had happened after the arrival of the East India Trading Company. It also meant the boy didn't know that the sister she purportedly lived with had left the island long ago for parts unknown - that too, due to the arrival of the Company in Port Royal.

Estrella confidently led the boy to a street on the far side of town. It wasn't as nice as the section of town where the Turners lived, but it was home to many of Port Royal's hard working citizens - not to mention the vast majority of the people who served in some capacity at the Governor's mansion. Even Will had lived in this section at one time – at Mr. Brown's former blacksmith shop. While where he lived now was more than a few steps down for his wife, it was quite a few steps up for him. Not coincidentally that same, now mostly abandoned, smithy was her ultimate destination that evening, but since no one actually worked there or lived in the accompanying house any more she couldn't exactly waltz up to the door and sashay in - even her disinterested pseudo escort might raise an eyebrow at that - hence her decidedly circuitous route to the street opposite where she was eventually headed. It should be no problem for her to pass off one of the homes as her sister's, wait until the boy was out of sight, and slip around to the house formerly occupied by the Browns. In the past few weeks Estrella had grown quite adept at moving about unnoticed by the normally nosy citizens of the town. It had taken her years to master that particular skill, and with any luck tonight it would pay off.

The plan went off without a hitch. She stopped in front of a home whose occupants were either out or already asleep for no lights shown around the edges of the drawn curtains. She made her way through the front gate, waited until the boy was not watching (a _much_ easier task than anticipated) and quickly slipped behind an oversized rhododendron that was in desperate need of some attention. The boy from the tavern had turned and quickly made his way back the way he had come – obviously in a hurry to be back at the Flash of Green and his own now delayed meal. If was he was waiting for smelled half as good as what was in her basket she couldn't blame him in the slightest. The gangly boy, with his lantern swinging wildly as he trotted along, had hardly turned the corner when Estrella stepped out of her hiding place and began to make her way to her temporary home.

The easiest and most obvious way in would have been to go straight through the oversized double set of wooden doors on the street side of the smithy, but that would hardly have been very subtle – not to mention that the doors were both barred and locked. Besides, despite the fact that the shop had obviously been closed and the house abandoned for quite some time, there _were_ people there on occasion – every two weeks to be exact. Without fail a young man and woman would arrive like clockwork and thoroughly clean both buildings. The upstairs windows were always washed, the courtyard swept, the ancient rosebushes and garden tended with care, and strangest of all, or at least to Estrella, all of the tools and equipment in the shop were cleaned and cared for – yet never used. Had she been able to see in the upstairs windows of the house she would have half expected to see all the beds neatly made. The one place the young couple never entered was the small stable located to one side of the tidy courtyard located behind the workshop and directly across from the house. .

The most viable option for Estrella to surreptitiously enter the premises was to approach from the narrow street – not much more than an alley really, behind the businesses that were lined up in an orderly row next to the abandoned smithy - many, if not most, of the smallish homes faced the rear of their occupants place of employment. The Brown family home was obviously no exception to that rule. The open area between the shop and the house was delineated from the street by fence that had long since seen better days. Its original purpose had been to prevent customers of the four footed variety from wandering when they were brought in for shoeing. Now that there were no horses on the premises there was no need to maintain the fence – simple as that. And indeed, no one had bothered to mend it for quite some time from the looks of it. None of that concerned Estrella – all she was concerned with was the blessed fact that fence's current ramshackle state of existence made it much easier for her to hide the fact that a family of four was living in the old stable – for who would notice if a board or two was misplaced? Unidentified footprints in the dirt could easily be explained as the belonging to local children. It had been the perfect set up for them for several weeks now, but tonight would be their last night there. While it was far from being the worst place Estrella and her children had taken refuge they were not going to miss it in the slightest.

The full moon made her progress easier than had been expected. She had never stayed away from the children for this long before, but the crew of the _Aztec Gold _had taken an eternity to disembark. Despite the fact that she had told both Turners that her husband had drowned that was simply not true. He was still quite alive and by now had most likely learned that his wife and children had left him. Estrella's greatest fear was not being discovered in her temporary home in the stable – it was having Thomas find them. Any and _every _time a ship made port, she watched carefully as the crew disembarked – holding her breath and hoping that Thomas was not among them. It was not an exaggeration to say she feared for her life and the lives of her children if he found them.

Then there had been the unexpected meeting with Elizabeth and her husband. She could have - and probably _should _have, continued on her way unnoticed when she saw them, but for some inexplicable reason, she hadn't. They had quite obviously been so engrossed in each other that they would never have noticed her. It had a little embarrassing and more than a little awkward when she interrupted their blissful interlude, but they _had_ been in the middle of a public street and hadn't Elizabeth herself taught her to never miss an opportune moment? She had been all prepared to offer up that excuse had they questioned her ill timed interruption, but luckily that hadn't been necessary. Now that she thought about it, perhaps she took her chance when she did in hope of finding a sympathetic ear? She had been Elizabeth's personal maid for several years thus they knew each other quiet well – sometimes too well. Or maybe it was her own curiosity about Will? He looked so different than she remembered. At first, it hadn't even occurred to her that the man Elizabeth was so passionately kissing was Will Turner – he had changed - as had they all, but he so much more than she would ever have expected. And yet she couldn't quite identify what was different about him other than his appearance, but there was something – something quite unusual at that. \

Estrella had been acquainted with Will much longer than she had Elizabeth, but advantage of Will's talents at the forge. Now all she had to go on was the he most he had always been a bit of an enigma. The only things she had known about him for sure was that he had been in love with Elizabeth forever and that Mr. Brown had taken assuredly still loved his wife – something Estrella would have been jealous of had not she known what he and Elizabeth had gone through just to be together.

Surely had Will been in Port Royal all this time someone would have mentioned him? Just the way he had been dressed that evening should have made him stand out in a crowd and yet the feeling she had gotten was that before today no one had even known he existed. Estrella sighed as she tamped down her own curiosity to focus on her own survival. She sincerely hoped that the impulsive move hadn't jeopardized all of her plans. Right now, the not entirely chance encounter seemed to have worked in her favor – now that she had employment, a place to live and most importantly, a way to ensure that her children no longer faced going to bed hungry.

Estrella pushed aside the boards and crept through fence. She had just turned to head for the empty stable when a glimmer of light from the second story of the supposedly empty Brown house caught her attention. There was no place for her to hide this time so she stood stock still hoping that no one came to the window to look out or, if they did that they would not notice her. She hadn't done anything to draw attention to herself, but the full moon lit up the night like a beacon. She might as well have been trying to hide in full daylight for all the moon's brightness this evening. She had learned long ago that it was best to err on the side of caution – it had been a lesson that had served her well.

Estrella continued to stare up at the window and the flickering candlelight from within. She could hardly breath with the fear that she was about to be discovered just as she was about to find an acceptable home for her children. Was there some other intruder making us of the empty house as a temporary shelter? Had someone finally bought the smithy and was getting ready to reopen it? Hadn't Elizabeth referred to Will as _Captain _Turner? The title didn't exactly lead one to believe that he was a blacksmith. He certainly was dressed more like a sailor than a man who spent his days shaping molten iron. She was certain it wasn't time for the biweekly maintenance of the premises. Besides, they always arrived at dawn and left at dusk. Estrella watched until the unseen and unknown occupant of the house had retreated from the window. As soon as she had reassured herself that she had not been seen she turned and quickly walked to the tiny, long abandoned stable and ducked inside.

The interior was nearly pitch black. Errant rays of light from the night's full moon oozed in through the spaces between the boards barely making visible the outlines of the four stalls. Beyond that it was impossible to make out any details as there was no other source of light at the moment. Estrella assumed that either the children had run out of oil for the lantern or they had noticed they were no longer alone and doused it in an effort to keep their presence a secret. She again felt guilty at the thought that children so young should or even could be so attuned to keeping themselves hidden.

"TJ?" she called softly to her eldest son. "TJ, are you in here?"

"Mama?" a young voice whispered back. A pale, thin, moonlit face framed with unruly dark hair appeared around the door of one of the stalls. "I was beginning to worry, but I remembered what you said and stayed here. There's someone in the house," he added with concern.

"You're such a good boy," Estrella said, smiling at him in the darkness. "Where are your brother and sister? I brought something to eat."

"Mama, there's someone in the house," he said again more urgently, but still keeping his voice down.

"I know. We just have to be extra careful. Now where are Jacob and Amelia?" If nothing else, Estrella noted, her eldest surviving child was quite diligent when it came to keeping watch over his siblings.

"They got tired of having to be quiet and feel asleep. Do you want me to wake them up? They were very hungry," he pointed out as he inched closer to the basket his mother carried and the delectable scent of food emanating from inside.

"I'll do it. I want you to relight the lantern, but keep it turned low. And take the basket, please?"

Jacob and Amelia Brantley were both fast asleep in a far back corner of the stall-curled up together in a pile of blankets of questionable age and origin. They took up so little space that they almost would have escaped the notice of anyone who might casually look inside. Like their older brother they were both overly thin due to their lack of regular meals. Estrella crouched down and shook Jacob gently. She knew if he woke up then Amelia would be right behind. Despite the four year difference in their ages, eight-year-old Jacob and four-year-old Amelia were nearly inseparable. Jacob had positioned himself as Amelia's protector and hero from the moment she was born. Had he not, Estrella feared that the little girl would not still be alive. She sometimes wondered if Jacob actually remembered the little girl who had been born hardly two years after him and then died soon after.

"Mama? Do we have to leave again?" the boy asked as he sleepily rubbed his eyes.

Estrella cringed at the knowledge that her children, at their young ages, were already used to fleeing at a moment's notice. It did not assuage her sense of failure to know that it was a matter of survival.

"No, we're staying in Port Royal for a bit longer." she said with feigned cheerfulness, hoping the boy would not notice the shame in her voice for what she had put them through. "Would you like something to eat? I brought food – you can have all you want."

The elusive rays of moonlight reflected off the boy's widened eyes. "Food" and "all you want" were two things he was not accustomed to hearing together.

"I want hotcakes – with butter," a tiny voice mumbled.

Estrella smiled and chuckled at her youngest child's request. "Maybe tomorrow, if not, then soon – I promise I'll do my best. Now would you like to come and have something to eat?" She leaned over the little girl and picked her up. Amelia wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and snuggled against her sleepily. Estrella inhaled deeply – smiling at the warm, comforting scent of a sleepy child. In spite of the hardships she had already endured in her short life, she was a pretty child – with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair. Hair that currently was tangled and full of bits of straw, but at least she and her clothes were otherwise clean – Estrella insisted upon that.

TJ dutifully and carefully relieved the basket of its hidden bounty and utilized the napkin as a makeshift table cloth. He was tempted to hold some of the food back for the next day, but hadn't his mother just told Jacob that they could have all they wanted? Granted, he was only eleven-years old, but he could not remember a time when unlimited food had been an option. Mother had promised that things would get better for them when they came to Port Royal. Was it possible that it was finally going to happen?

Estrella and her daughter stood over the veritable feast the basket had reveled in awe of the Cavanaugh's generosity while Jacob plopped down in the straw, snatched a still warm meat pie, and dug in. It wasn't the expected shepard's pie, but it was a more than suitable substitute, especially considering the unexpected addition of apple fritters.

"These are good, mama" Jacob commented as he continued to cram bits of food into his mouth. "Did you steal them?"

"JACOB!" TJ hissed, "Mama would never steal."

"She stole us clean straw to sleep in" Jacob replied matter of factly.

"Nobody stole anything," their mother snapped at them as she made herself as comfortable as possible in the straw – not an easy task when you were five months pregnant and carrying a sleeping four-year old. "The food is a gift from Miss Swann. I've told you about her - remember? I used to be her maid." Estrella supposed that was true – or at least _mostly _true -indirectly at least.

"You went to that big house today?" Amelia had awakened and joined the conversation. "Miss Swann is the governor's daughter," the little girl told her older brother's as if she alone was privy to that bit of information.

"No, I didn't go to the mansion. She's not the governor's daughter anymore or at least she's not the new governor's daughter. Her father died. Besides, she's a grown woman now. She has her own family now, just like I have mine."

"Does she have a little girl I can play with?" Amelia asked hopefully.

"That doesn't matter! Quit being such a baby. Do you think she might hire you as a maid again?" TJ, the family's resident pragmatist, asked his mother. He seldom complained, but he was more than tired of living on the run as it were.

Amelia snuggled closer in to her mother and buried her face in her dress to hide her tears. She was quite resilient for a four year old, but she never liked it when TJ snapped at her.

TJ leaned forward and stroked Amelia's hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sure you'll have lots of playmates soon."

"Better," Estrella smiled at her children. "Miss Swann, I mean, _Mrs. Turner_, owns a tavern. I'm going to work there in the kitchens. We also have our own rooms. They're not very big, but they'll be ours!"

"Truly?" Amelia asked - although from her is sounded more like "twuly."She was a very bright little girl, but as yet had not mastered the letter "r." On more than one occasion she had asked how long they were going to stay in Port Woyal.

"When do we start?" interjected TJ.

"_We _won't be starting anything. _I _start tomorrow. That means everyone needs to be up, washed, dressed and ready to go by daybreak. We all need to make a good impression."

"I thought Miss Swann liked you," commented Jacob.

"Mrs. Turner – and I haven't seen her for years. Either way, she doesn't work in the tavern, she just owns it."

"Mama? Will we be safe from father there or will he find us again?" Amelia whispered.

Estrella shuddered internally at the question. No child – most especially one as young as Amelia – should know what it was like to be afraid for their safety, most especially from a parent.

"I hope so, sweeting. More than you can imagine, I hope so."

A few hours later, Estrella sat in the straw, wrapped up in one of the ancient blankets and contemplated her situation. The children were curled up asleep, for once having eaten their fill and without having to worry how long it would be until their next meal. The light of the full moon created stripes across the floor of the stable making it look more like prison bars than anything. _Prison bars would be appropriate, _she thought – for tomorrow she would _hopefully _be leaving her prison of poverty, the latest in a seemingly unending set of figurative prisons she had endured. She knew that what she was doing could be dangerous, but she believed that running away was her only option. She had tried before, unsuccessfully, to leave Thomas, but he had always found them. The backlash of his anger had never been pretty. Fear for her life, the lives of her children and the knowledge that she was again pregnant had given her the courage to try one last time. She did not –_could not_ – imagine what would happen if he found them this time. The memories of his anger and cruelty were so great that it was now difficult for her to remember a time when she _had _still loved him. They had been happy – _once_.

Estrella already regretted the lies and half truths she had told both the Turners and the Cavanaughs. If there was to be any hope of them helping her permanently escape her situation she would have to reveal the truth of her situation – the sooner the better. No one enjoyed having to swallow their pride, but with as much as she had at stake, it was worth it. She repeatedly reminded herself that of all the people she had known in her life, Will and Elizabeth Turner were the two most likely to stick their necks our for her. Hadn't they already done so this evening without knowing her true situation?

She wracked her brain trying to remember what she had told them- Thomas had drowned, she remembered telling them that. She also remembered Elizabeth's strange reaction to hearing that bit of information. Thomas had been – _was _a sailor as apparently was Will. To die at sea was nothing unusual and yet Elizabeth had seemed slightly unsettled by that though. That reaction, however, hadn't been quite as strange as her reaction to her claim of having seen the _Flying Dutchman. _Just the mention of the ship had seemed to make Elizabeth nervous. _Had she seen it too?_ That part, if nothing else, had been true. She had seen the ghost ship and it wouldn't bother her one whit if Thomas was confined to Davy Jones locker with the devil himself. But why would hearing a tale like that bother Elizabeth? For as long as Estrella could remember Elizabeth had loved tales and legends of the sea. It was quite rare for her not to have a book of such stories nearby. Surely such a tale would not seem strange to a woman who had, in fact, been kidnapped by undead pirates.

Stranger still, or at least to Estrella, was Will's apparent lack of a reaction. He had always been very quiet and reserved from her point of view, but she couldn't recall many, if _any_ things he had quite so pointedly ignored, most certainly not anything that caused Elizabeth even the slightest degree of distress. Will missed little to nothing of what went on around him – even when he appeared to not overtly be paying attention. He had always been like that as far as Estrella could recall. It was a quirk that caused many people to underestimate him in what he knew and what he could do.

She hated that she had left both Turners with the impression that she considered her children a bother and burden. She loved them more than life itself. If she didn't she certainly wouldn't be taking the risk she was to get away from her husband. That thought led her again to the curious fact that Will and Elizabeth only had the one child. Had she not heard Elizabeth talk incessantly of their plans for a large family? It was possible that only Elizabeth wanted that, but it struck Estrella as being most out of character for the couple – she couldn't think of a single thing Elizabeth had ever talked about to her that she and Will hadn't both wanted.

And then there was their behavior in the street earlier that afternoon. By her reckoning they should have been married for eleven years or so by now – way past the time when one would have quit expecting quite such a flagrant display of public affection from them. She certainly didn't remember them being quite so bold with their affections during their engagement – or at least not in public. She had, on occasion, inadvertently stumbled upon them engaged in an intensely private moment. Surely they still weren't that mad for each other now? It was practically unheard of and yet, it didn't really surprise her all that much. They had always been openly affectionate, but it had been far more subtle than she had seen this morning.

The one last oddity she thought of was how Will had appeared to be taking his cues from Elizabeth and their son. It was almost like he was lost in his own home. And why was it she had neither seen him nor heard any mention of him until today? He certainly hadn't acted as if he had ever seen the Cavanaughs before and yet, if he and Elizabeth owned the tavern one would have expected him to at least know the name of their tenants. There was a mystery there to be solved, but she had no clue as to where to begin nor did she have any idea when she might have time to do so.

In truth it had been quite by accident that Estrella had discovered Elizabeth was living in Port Royal. Every time a ship had came in, Estrella had made her way to the docks as inconspicuously as she could to look for Thomas or rather to make sure that Thomas was not on board. She had noticed early on that the largest and best kept ships belonged to the Turner-Castillo shipping line. It hadn't been until she had casually eavesdropped, out of boredom more than anything, on some merchant's conversations that she had learned that the owner of the company was the daughter of the former governor. The most obvious conclusion was that the woman in question was the one she had known as Elizabeth Swann. From that point on Estrella had practically stalked Elizabeth in an attempt to learn as much about her as she could - her ultimate goal being to determine the best way to approach her for help.

What she had learned was almost as puzzling as what she hadn't learned. Elizabeth had been back for three years. No one seemed to know where she had been before that time. No one ever mentioned her husband and seldom mentioned her son. Estrella had merely assumed from Elizabeth's use of the name "Turner" that she had either married Will at some point or was just using his name as her own. It wasn't like she hadn't done it before. Besides, hadn't her sister mentioned in that very last letter, so many years before, that both Will _and _Elizabeth had been sentenced to hang before they both disappeared?

The sight of Will Turner _alive _that afternoon had been far more of a shock to her than the fact that he and Elizabeth were locked in a passionate embrace in public. It was an easy assumption to make that Elizabeth's father could have and indeed, _would_ have used his influence to gain a pardon for his only daughter, but would his largesse have extended to Will? Good man or not, he had never been the Governor's first choice of potential husbands for Elizabeth. How had they both ended up back here in Port Royal, seemingly unscathed, after all this time?

There was something unusual about the Turner family and Estrella intended to find out, but not now - now it was time to sleep as best she could in the pitifully small mound of straw she had kept for herself. She eased her bulk into as comfortable position as she could manage and rubbed her swollen belly. The baby moved and kicked in apparent response to her actions. Tomorrow, she thought, _tomorrow_ we will have a real bed, we won't have to scrounge for food and we will have a start on a brand new life. Maybe this time things would go in their favor.


	10. Did I forget to mention?

It was still well before dawn when Evan rolled out from under the covers, stood up, stretched and then padded over to the window. He peered through the leaded glass panes towards the smithy across the street as he ran his fingers through his auburn hair. It was still too dark to see much of anything – not that he expected to, but it never hurt to check. He still had no idea who the woman was he had seen in the courtyard the night before. There _had_ been footprints in the dirt around the stable and near the well for several weeks now. Evan had just attributed them to children playing around the abandoned business, but perhaps he was wrong. Was the obviously pregnant woman he had seen living there – with _children_? It was difficult for him to fathom such an idea, but stranger things had happened.

As he turned back to the bed and began to strip the linens from it he made a mental note to tell Elizabeth about their apparently uninvited guest - or _guests_ as the case may be. He froze for a second as he remembered that concerns about the smithy might no longer be any of Elizabeth's business. If everything had gone according to plan, the still, as yet, unseen Will Turner might now be in charge of affairs such as this. Technically speaking, the smithy did belong to him. Elizabeth's father had bought out the former owner as a wedding gift to the young couple. From what Evan knew of Will, it hadn't surprised him to learn that Will had intended to support his wife by himself, but he had never been given that chance. He wasn't even sure if Will even _knew _the smithy had ever belonged to him – much less the trouble his wife had gone through to ensure that the property, once again, did. It was common knowledge that all goods, properties and possessions that had been due Elizabeth as her inheritance, and the lone property deeded to Will had been forfeited to the East India Trading Company after they were charged with piracy. Granted, much of that had been resolved, but how could Will possibly know of it?

Evan tugged the last sheet off the bed and smirked at the thought of Mercedes half-hearted complaints about having extra laundry to do and her demand that he take care of the additional work load himself – if she only knew what she was in for when she too, returned to the Turner household today. While it was entirely possible that Evan's work load would decrease with another able bodied male now living there, Mercedes would surely act as if an entire troupe of gypsies had moved in and demanded that she wait on them hand and foot. Evan had long since decided that her lackluster grousing was nothing more than a bad, albeit it somewhat odd, habit. If the truth be told, she was quite efficient at what she did- just as long as someone could keep her focused. Saying that she was easily distracted was a bit of an understatement. As much as he hated to admit it, it was part of her charm.

Evan has spent the past two nights in the master bedroom in the house formerly owned by Mr. Brown, the blacksmith who had, along with his wife, raised Will Turner from the time he arrived in Port Royal, as the presumably orphaned, sole survivor of a pirate attack until he reached his majority. Under normal circumstances no one lived in the house, but since Evan had nowhere else to go he had taken advantage of the fact that it was available. He was sure Elizabeth wouldn't mind. Besides, the house was _always_ maintained in a state of readiness (it was indeed, one of Evan's – and Mercedes' responsibilities) to accommodate some of Elizabeth's less savory visitors. It would _never _do for a well respected lady of society to host known pirates in her own home – no matter that the lady in question was, in fact, the Pirate King.

Wednesday had been spent alternately reading books borrowed from Elizabeth's expansive library and wandering about Port Royal hoping to pick up on any gossip about a ghostly ship that had suddenly appeared in the area, and quite possibly vanished again under equally mysterious circumstances - but to no avail. Neither did he pick up on any tales of Mrs. Turner appearing in the company of an unidentified man. As curious as the townsfolk tended to be surely someone would have said something had they seen her with Will. Perhaps that meant that the Turner family had not even left the house yesterday, but how had she gotten Will there with no one noticing? Evan felt a sudden surge of uncertainty as he considered the possibility that things had _not _gone as planned. Elizabeth certainly had held up her end of the bargain and had never once wavered in her belief that Will would return as planned – but what if something had gone wrong? What if they had been wrong about the curse's ability to be broken? What would happen now? Elizabeth had once confided in Evan that neither she, nor Will was sure what would happen at the end of the ten years. All that either Turner knew was that they had to maintain their faith in each other, their love, and the ability to survive the separation. Evan shuddered at the thought and quickly decided that his only options were to stay here and worry about it or return home and hope for the best. Obviously, avoiding the situation wasn't going to solve anything, so his choice was clear.

Evan folded up the used linens into a neat bundle, gathered up his few belongings and headed back to the house on Carmen Street. Visions of one of Mrs. Lansford's breakfasts made his mouth to begin to water and put a new sense of urgency in his step. Knowing her attention to detail and her work ethic, he was sure she was already at work, inventorying the pantry, cooking, baking and most importantly, keeping Mercedes busy in the hours before her regular duties started. Mary Lansford had to be one of the most industrious women he had ever known. He couldn't imagine her even stopping to think twice about any extra work another person in the household might cause. If something needed to be done, she just did it. Mercedes could do worse than to follow her example.

Evan was half-way home before it occurred to him that he should have checked around the smithy. He couldn't imagine why someone might be living in there, but surely Mrs. Turner would want to know. Considering what else might be on her mind today maybe it would be best if he came back later and check things out. There was no sense in worrying her over nothing. It wasn't as if there was anything she could do about it now. Besides, if there really was a family living there it wasn't like Elizabeth to kick them out. She was simply one of the most compassionate people he had ever known. Hadn't she given both him and Mercedes a home when they had nowhere else to go?

In no time, Evan was at the garden gate entrance to the Turner property. He could already smell the smoke from the kitchen fireplace and oven. It wasn't Mrs. Lansford's normal day to do any baking, but since she had been given an unscheduled day off he assumed she was just trying to catch up with her normal routine. Evan glanced up at the upstairs windows before opening the gate. The draperies were all still tightly closed, but considering the early hour that was no surprise. His managed to hold his anxiety in check as he again wondered if Will Turner had returned home – to stay.

"Good morning, Brigand," Evan greeted the enormous black dog blocking the path as he reached down to scratch him behind the ears.

Brigand merely thumped his tail on the flag stones a few times in reply and continued to gnaw on what appeared to be a ham bone. Evan stepped over the dog and continued on his way to the outdoor kitchen all the while wondering where the dog could have possibly gotten such a large bone. Everyone in the Turner household knew not to put anything even remotely edible where the dog could get to it. When it came to food, Brigand had no self-control. The other thing Brigand didn't have was a mean bone in his body. The dog was in all actuality about as docile as they come. However, his sheer size combined with a well timed growl or bark kept all but the most serious intruders at bay. Fortunately, they had never had any serious intruders to press the issue. The dog's presence pretty much made the Turner house completely pirate proof. Unless you counted the occasional appearance by Captain Sparrow and all he ever did was growl right back at the dog.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lansford, Mercedes," Evan said cheerfully as he stepped into the kitchen and dropped his bundle of laundry just inside the door. "Did you notice the dog has what looks like a leftover ham?"

"And a good morning to you too, Evan!" Mrs. Lansford responded as she looked up from the mass of dough she was kneading. "I believe you're right about the ham, there is one missing. I would be surprised if Will didn't know something about it," she said as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face with her elbow leaving a white streak of flour across her forehead. "I don't think there is any mischief that boy and the dog haven't gotten in to, but no matter, it's market day – it can be replaced."

Evan turned to Mercedes who was studiously ignoring him as she chopped vegetables and dropped them in a pot. "And how might you be today, señorita?"

Mercedes sighed heavily as she picked up another carrot to slice. "How do you think I am? I'm never up this early and even if I did have an extra day off that just means there's more work for me to do today." Her eyes drifted towards the bundle of linens lying by the door. "And now there's more laundry to do."

"Well aren't you just a sparkling ray of sunshine today?" Evan commented as he stole an as yet unsliced carrot and began munching on it. Mercedes retaliated by slapping his hand with the flat of her knife. Mrs. Lansford arched an eyebrow in Mercedes' direction. The girl dropped her gaze and went back to her assigned task.

"We all have extra tasks today," Evan added as he grinned at the dark-haired girl while quickly snatching his hand back out of harm's way. "Even William, I mean Will…..no, William has double lessons today. We'll all pitch in and help just like we always to. It's not that bad."

"Leave the girl be, Evan. She's just upset because I mentioned I might have to do the marketing today instead of her. I have a few special things I want to get and it's just something I would rather do myself this time. Mercedes, Evan _is_ right, we'll all help and maybe you will be able to come with me, although _why_ you enjoy going to the market I will never understand –it always was my least favorite chore." Mrs. Lansford plopped the now well kneaded dough onto a board to begin shaping it into a loaf.

"She only likes to go because she likes all the attention from the boys," Evan teased.

"I do _NOT!_" Mercedes snapped –stabbing the knife upright in cutting board as she finished up the last of the carrots. Evan started at the anger in her voice.

"That's enough you two!" As ever, Mrs. Lansford was the voice of reason in the household, for everyone else seemed to have a temper to rival that of Mrs. Turner. "Mercedes, take Evan's laundry and go get started. It's not going to wash itself. And while you're at it, you might want to start heating the water for the tub. I would hazard a guess that Mrs. Turner might be wanting a bath today. You know how she is about personal hygiene and all that." She flipped a clean towel over the newly molded loaf and started on another.

"I'm helping you. Can't he do it?"

"I need to talk to him - alone - before Will wakes up."

Mercedes gracefully stood up from the table, walked around it and retrieved the bundle Evan had dropped by the door without once taking her eyes off of him. Her nearly black eyes flashed with such annoyance that anyone could tell she was only begrudgingly doing what had been asked of her. As she crossed the room again to head towards the wash house and bath house she stopped and turned back to the pair remaining in the kitchen. "William, before William wakes up. Am I the only one who's noticed that's what she calls him now?" she asked gesturing towards the house with her head. With that, she turned and headed out the door.

Mrs. Lansford watched Evan as he crossed the room also to watch Mercedes' retreat. She knew what he was doing – everyone in the household knew how Evan truly felt about the girl – everyone except Mercedes. She was too busy trying to make him pay attention to her that she hadn't noticed that he was.

"You're right, you know."

"Pardon?" Evan asked somewhat confused.

"She does like to go to the market for the attention. She thinks if the other boys pay attention to her then perhaps that will inspire you to do the same. She's trying to make you jealous, Mr. Ross." Mrs. Lansford sprinkled more flour on the current lump of bread dough she was torturing.

Evan snorted with laughter. "She doesn't want to have anything to do with me."

Mrs. Lansford closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. "I surrender; you two will have to work it out on your own. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"No?"

Mrs. Lansford took a deep breath and looked towards the main house. "He's back isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Will."

"He never left, I'm sure he's upstairs asleep even as we speak." Evan said as his eyes narrowed in a desperate attempt to cover his panic with a look of confusion.

"Don't play games with me, boy. I've been around long enough that I've learned to notice things and then keep them to myself when need be too."

"I still don't understand what you're asking."

"Will Turner, Mr. Turner, Captain Turner, Will the elder, Elizabeth's husband, Will's father, whatever you want to call him. He's back now, isn't he?" She punched the dough hard. "And quit pretending you don't know who I'm talking about."

Evan watched the older woman for a few minutes before he answered her.

"Did you know him?" Evan asked as he took the seat recently vacated by Mercedes.

"You didn't answer my question." More flour, another punch.

"You didn't answer mine."

Mrs. Lansford looked up, but not at Evan, and smiled.

"Yes, I remember when he came here. He was such a scrawny boy, but that was to be expected after all he'd been through. He was always so polite and such hard worker, but he had the saddest eyes I've ever known. After Mrs. Brown died I kept an extra eye on him what with him already being an orphan and Mr. Brown taking to the bottle."

"I didn't know. I've never met him myself. I've seen him though – from a distance."

"Evan Ross, in case you haven't noticed I'm a bit advanced in my years. My children and many of my grandchildren are grown and gone. My husband and I live comfortably. You don't think I took this job because I needed it did you? When I heard she was back I made it my mission to get hired on here."

"She?"

Mrs. Lansford began shaping her second loaf of bread.

"Mrs. Turner." The cook shot Evan a look warning that clearly warned him that she was _not_ going to play his game. "I knew the second I saw her boy whose son he was. He looks just like his father. It was such a relief to see them – alive. I always wanted to believe that they had survived their ordeal and managed to marry each other. I do believe he has been in love with her since the first moment he lay eyes on her." Mrs. Lansford moved the second loaf to the side to let it rise and wiped her hands on her apron. "Now I think you owe me an answer?"

"Yes and yes, or at least, I think so. He's supposed to be back. I don't know how much I can tell you about where he's been, just that he was supposed to be back Tuesday evening, but I don't know if it worked or not." Evan toyed nervously with the knife Mercedes had embedded in the cutting board.

"Watch what you say if there be something I don't need to be knowing."

Evan rested his chin on his hand and continued. "I've been with her since the day he left. His coming home has been her main focus for ten years now – other than William, of course. I don't know what she'll do if he can't stay."

"So what they say is true, eh?" Mrs. Lansford swept the leftover flour from her workspace and got her own cutting board.

"It depends on what you're heard them say I suppose." Evan rolled his head to rest his cheek in his hand instead so he could see the family's cook and her reactions.

"The ten years part. If you think he's back, then obviously he's not dead, now is he?" She walked over to the pantry and gathered up several crocks filled with dried fruit to take back to where she was working. "Does he know about the boy?"

"Yes, but he seldom had a chance to see him. I don't think William even remembers ever having seen him."

"Then all we can do is wait – and pray. We should have our answer soon enough. Now why don't you go help out your young lady and I continue with what I have to do."

"Yes, ma'am," he said as he stood up and headed towards the rear door. He stopped just shy of the threshold and turned back to the cook. "If he's not back, I'll be glad of someone else who knows what's wrong. It's been a hard secret to keep for this long."

"You're a fine young man, Evan Ross. Now go let that girl see it."

Evan smiled shyly as he left – thinking to himself what a relief it was to share at least a small part of the burden. He wondered what Mrs. Lansford would think if she knew all the secrets he had been charged with. Some of them were bound to come out – at least to the family's small staff, but it wasn't his place to tell them. If what Elizabeth had told him was correct, then all that needed to be done was for her to be waiting for Will at the designated spot and everything would be taken care of. She had been so confident about that for all these years.

The only issues remaining were a plausible explanation for where Will had been and the rather unusual fact that his heart was safely locked in a chest upstairs. The where he had been part would be easy. Sailors tended to be gone for long periods of time at a stretch and it wasn't as if anybody could just look at Will and see that his heart was missing. No matter what happened next, Evan was determined to stick it out with the Turner family. Sadly, they were the only family he had or had ever really known. He knew Mercedes was in pretty much the same situation, but would she be willing to face whatever came next with equal determination?

The door to the wash house was standing open, as expected for the tiny room could be unbearable with the fires burning. What was not expected was that the room was devoid of life. Mercedes was not there. She obviously had been there – the fires were lit, the giant wash pot filled with laundry and water, even the extra vat used to heat bath water was filled and slowly warming, but where could she be? Evan turned around and scanned the large open area behind the main house. They all referred to it as the lawn, but truthfully it was more than that. The Turner household was more of a compound than just a home. If they had wanted they could have functioned quite well without ever having to leave. The downside was that Mercedes could be anywhere.

Evan looked around for a few minutes before deciding to go back to the kitchen. Perhaps they had just missed each other while he was searching for her? Evan stuck his head through the doorway of the kitchen and looked around. Mrs. Lansford was still there – hard at work as always. This time putting an assortment of dried fruits she had just finished chopping into some bowl of liquid. Evan couldn't tell what it was, but it distinctly smelled of rum.

"Did she run you off?"

Evan jumped back. He hadn't realized that she had heard him come in. He made a mental note to himself to be far more cautious around her. Considering what she had revealed earlier, she was much more observant than anyone gave her credit for.

"She wasn't there. I thought she might have come back here"

"Did she do like I asked?"

"Yes, she has the laundry started and bath water heating already."

"Then maybe she though better of complaining about how much work she had and decided to face it head on. It's not going to go away."

"I guess that's possible," Evan replied sounding vaguely unsure of himself. Some detail was gnawing at the back of his brain, but he just couldn't quite remember what it was.

Mrs. Lansford glanced out the window for a moment. "It's getting close to time for everybody to start waking up. Maybe she's taking the wash pitchers upstairs."

"I guess that would make sense." Evan stepped over to the table to examine the contents of the bowl – it _was_ rum covering the fruit. Whatever Mrs. Lansford was making she was certainly going to quite a bit of trouble.

"Oh, dear."

"Did you forget to add something?" Evan asked, his knowledge of cooking was seriously lacking – his knowledge of baking was worse. Only Elizabeth was less adept in the kitchen than he was.

"Oh no, this can't be good," Mrs. Lansford said to herself as she quickly wiped off her hands and headed towards the house.

The reason for Mrs. Lansford's concern with where Mercedes was and what she was doing entered Evan's mind simultaneously with the blood curdling scream that filled his ears. He moved as quickly as he could to get around the cook and into the house, but as with any situation when time was of the essence _everything_ seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Will was lying on his left side facing the bedroom door with his arms wrapped tightly around his wife. Elizabeth was lying facing him with both of her hands pulled up resting against his chest. They were both hard fast asleep – or at least they were until the screaming started.

Will sat bolt upright in the bed, pulling Elizabeth closer to him with one arm while reaching for a sword that was not there with the other. Elizabeth lay perfectly still, but he could tell that she was awake. He did not recognize the olive skinned young girl standing in the doorway now chanting in a language he did not understand, crossing herself, while standing amidst pottery shards and a rapidly expanding puddle of water. Some vague memory of something William had mentioned only the day before tickled the edge of his awareness. _She lives here. William said that. What _is _her name?_

The sound of footsteps charging up the stairs distracted Will from his question. An auburn haired young man of slightly below average height appeared in the doorway next. From the sound of it, there was still at least one more person coming. This was _not _how Will had anticipated being awakened in his own home. He suddenly became aware of Elizabeth starting to tremble.

"I beg your pardon, sir. She didn't know. One of us will clean up the mess…..later," Evan squeaked out as his took Mercedes by the hand and led the still stunned girl out of the room. This was not exactly how he had imagined his introduction to the Captain would go, but there was no undoing it now. _Why didn't I remember this and tell Mercedes to wait?_

Evan smiled apologetically at Will as he quietly closed the bedroom door. Will had yet to say a word – his attention was torn between what was wrong with Elizabeth and the strangers who had come uninvited into their bedroom – for the second time since he'd come home.

"Elizabeth? Are you all right?" he asked quietly as he gently stoked her hair.

Elizabeth tilted her tear streaked face up towards her husband – and began to giggle uncontrollably. She couldn't stop. The harder she laughed the more tears that streamed from her eyes.

Will narrowed his eyes at his wife and chewed his lower lip in an effort to control his own sudden urge to laugh too. "What were you thinking? Why didn't you lock the door?"

"I'm so sorry. I should have told Evan to not have Mercedes wake me up today. I knew I forgot something," she answered sheepishly. "And there is no lock. Port Royal seems to be short a blacksmith and well…..I never got around to having one made elsewhere. It's not like I needed it or anything."

Will closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief before finally giving in to the silliness of it all. "Will she, Mercedes, be all right? I couldn't understand a word she was saying."

Elizabeth wiped her eyes. "English isn't her first language, when she's scared or angry, she reverts to Spanish. And just in case you were wondering, she was praying.

"Praying?"

"Maybe she thought she saw a ghost or something. She is overly superstitious." Elizabeth began to laugh again.

"That's not funny."

"Yes, it is and you know it," she said as she flattened her palms out on Will's chest and pushed him over onto his back. "Now, I'm still sleepy so you can just stay right here for now," she ordered him as she nestled back into the crook of his arm and flung one of hers across his chest.

"Is life around here always this much of an adventure?"

"Pretty much. You might as well get used to it. Now, hush. You're keeping me awake."

"Aye, aye, Captain" he said mockingly as he draped his arm across hers and kissed the top of her head. "But I _am _going to put a lock on that door."

The commotion was quickly forgotten as husband and wife quickly fell back asleep.

Meanwhile, things downstairs were not quite so amusing or calm.


	11. Return to the Tavern

The sun wasn't even up yet when Laura Cavanaugh woke up. She rolled over towards her husband's side of the bed, only to discover that he was already up and most likely hard at work. That wasn't a surprise, he was like that – he had been for as long as she had known him. The surprise was that he had allowed her to sleep. It was hard work running a tavern and it took both of them working together to do so properly. A wave of nausea washed over her as she sat up in the bed. It wasn't unexpected, but it was more than a bit inconvenient at the moment. Today was the day that Mrs. Turner's former maid, Estrella Brantley, was scheduled to start work at the Flash of Green. Actually, now that Laura thought about it, the prospect of extra help made her morning sickness not as inconvenient as it could have been. Still, she could have easily done without it.

She carefully laid her head back on her pillow and waited for the queasiness to pass as she carefully rolled her head towards the night stand. As expected, Nathaniel had left her a mug of cool water and some bread. He might not be the most openly affectionate of men, but he was thoughtful and a good provider. He had made little comment when she had told him their news, but had gone out of his way to lighten her load – allowing her to sleep in, leaving her the water and something to eat to ease the nausea, helping to get their two rowdy sons off to school and countless other little things. He had already mentioned the possibility of hiring some extra help for Laura before they had the good fortune of Estrella dropping right into their laps.

Estrella was the perfect solution on more than one count. There was plenty of time to train her properly before her baby was due and she should be recovered from the delivery and back to work about the time that Laura would be wanting to start slowing down a bit. More importantly, Estrella seemed quite open and willing to answer questions – perhaps even some of the ones about the Turners that had Laura intrigued. She had gathered from the conversation the night before that the three of them had known each other for quite some time – perhaps even from childhood. And yet there was that odd sense of wariness between Estrella and Captain Turner. They obviously knew each other and yet each had acted as if the other's presence were a complete and total surprise.

Had Laura not been sure of the fact that the Captain had _not_ been in Port Royal recently she would have guessed that Estrella was perhaps his mistress and the awkwardness had been caused by the presence of his wife - it wasn't something that was exactly unheard of, but that was categorically untrue on this case. Will and Elizabeth Turner were positively besotted with one another. Even the least observant of people could see that in an instant. That meant there had to be something else had caught them off guard, but _what?_

She lay in bed for a few more minutes before once again attempting to rise. This time the nausea wasn't quite so bad. She could already hear the rest of her gregarious family downstairs making preparations for their day. She stood up and straightened up the bedclothes before washing and dressing for the undoubtedly long day ahead.

Estrella, too, awoke before dawn. She lay in her makeshift bed of straw for several minutes just listening to her children breathe. They were her reason for living and the reason she was taking the risk that she was to start over. How anyone could not see them for the precious treasure that they are was beyond her understanding and yet Thomas viewed them as an inconvenience and to a certain extent – expendable. They deserved none of what they had suffered through in the previous months and years and although they admittedly had plenty to complain about they seldom ever did. She'd had such high hopes when she had married Thomas and left Port Royal – a new husband, a new home, a baby on the way. It was like all of her wishes had suddenly come true and yet none of her plans had yet come to fruition. Thomas had repeatedly mocked her for being such an optimist, but he could never quite kill that spark. Perhaps now their luck was changing. She sent up a silent prayer that this time everything would work out for them. She was tired of running, and with another baby coming she realistically couldn't run much more. She had been born in Port Royal and grown up here - if she was going to have to take a stand against Thomas then what better place than her home territory?

She somewhat ungracefully pushed herself into an upright position and began, one by one, to nudge her children towards consciousness. TJ immediately headed outdoors with their slightly leaky, but mostly serviceable bucket, to draw water from the well. He did not need to be reminded that he and his siblings needed to look their best _and_ be on their best behavior for their mother's first day in her new position. Jacob and Amelia brushed the dust and wrinkles out of their cleanest outfits as well as they could and then laid out the remains of the previous night's feast for their breakfast. Neither Estrella nor her children could remember the last time the family had been afforded the opportunity to eat their fill for _two_ meals in a row. The prospect of not having to scrounge for food was first and foremost on everyone's mind today -the fact that they might be living in a proper home with furniture and everything was just an added bonus.

Oddly enough, Estrella was not nervous at all. The Cavanaughs had made her feel comfortable when she met them the night before and had not even hesitated to comply with Elizabeth Turner's request that they hire her. While she had been employed as a lady's maid, she had frequently helped her mother and sister in the kitchens. Had she not been pushed in another direction, she might very well have ended up a cook like her mother before her. She had always been a hard worker and had complete confidence in herself that she could do what was required of her in this job. She was, however, quite anxious to get started. The children were anxious too. In no time, they had eaten, washed up, dressed themselves, and done their best to obscure any signs that they had been living in the stable behind the smithy for several weeks. Estrella wasn't sure if her anxiety had motivated them or if they too were beyond ready to start a new life. It didn't really matter. For once everything seemed to be going in their favor. God willing, things would continue in that direction.

The sound of the townspeople of Port Royal beginning to go about their daily business was beginning to trickle in from the street side of the smithy. Estrella and her three young children gathered their few belongings, set out for the Flash of Green and whatever awaited them there.

Laura made her way down the stairs to the Cavanaugh family's dining room. Nathaniel and their two sons were already seated at the table waiting patiently while Moira, ever the little hostess, carefully poured their tea. Laura took her seat to the right of her husband and surveyed her sons' attire. They never balked at going to school, but they weren't overly concerned about the state of their clothing. They would wear the same clothes for days on end if Laura wasn't diligent in making sure their less presentable garments were not quickly retrieved and sent on to the laundry. Either her incessant reminders to make sure their clothes both matched _and _were clean were beginning to sink in or Nathaniel was beginning to take notice of what the boys were wearing. However, it did not matter to Laura why things were improving on that front, just that they were.

Moira finished her task and gracefully seated herself next to her mother. Laura looked at her youngest child and took note of how neatly dressed she was. Moira had to be the easiest child ever to rear for she always did what she was asked and seldom, if ever, procrastinated. Laura would miss her company during the day when she started attending the town school next year, but by then she would have a new baby to take care of. Laura sent up a silent prayer that her next child would also be as sweet as her only daughter. It wasn't that she didn't love her sons –no matter how different her children were from one another they were all special in their own unique way. It was just that they were so much work. Then again, if Estrella worked out, then perhaps Laura, and maybe even Nathaniel, would have more time to spend as a family. All she could do was hope for the best.

"Jonathan, Robert, do either of you know any Brantley children at school?" their mother asked as she added two lumps of sugar to her morning tea.

The two boys looked at each other as if they needed to agree on a story before they answered. Both boys had guilty looks on their faces which were quickly replaced by looks of confusion.

"No, ma'am. I don't _think_ so," offered Jonathan, her eldest son. At eight years old, he was little more than a year older than his brother Robert. Both boys had their father's straight brown hair and hazel eyes. They looked so much alike and were so close to each other in size that most people believed them to be twins – an unexpected bit of fortune that the pair was notorious for taking advantage of.

Jonathan's tone and expression told her that he was telling her the truth or the truth as far as he knew it, but that there was something else he was hiding. There might be Brantleys at the school, but he didn't know them. Considering how small the school was it was unlikely for that to be the case. Was it possible she had misunderstood about the age of Estrella's children? Were they too young for school? She most certainly had not been in Port Royal long enough for any of them to leave school in favor of an apprenticeship.

"Did someone tell you something about school?" asked Robert.

He was doing his best to try and make his question sound as casual as possible, but his downturned eyes and his nervous habit of toying with his food told Laura that her son was avoiding telling her something. Either Robert, or more likely the pair of them, had done something they knew they would be in trouble for.

"Should they have?" interjected their father, having picked up on the boys surreptitious glances towards each other and subdued demeanor. They weren't bad children, but mischief had a habit of finding them. Fortunately for Nathaniel and Laura, their sons were also pathologically honest – anything they did eventually came out, more often sooner than later.

The boys looked at each other, each daring the other to speak first. They were going to be in trouble – there was no doubt about that, but they hadn't expected to be caught this quickly. It hadn't even been a full day since their little indiscretion. If they had to be found out, couldn't it have at least waited until supper?

"I suppose you'll find out anyway, so I might as well tell you," said Robert.

"No, _I'll _tell them. I'm the oldest. It was my idea," added Jonathan. He didn't exactly want to tell their parents what they had done, but they had long learned that fighting over which one would confess tended to make the punishment they received go a bit lighter.

"And what idea might this be?" Their mother's voice was both stern and full of concern.

"Yesterday, when we were eating our lunch, we saw Will come by with his mother and that man -," Jonathan began only to be interrupted by his little sister.

"That's his father."

Jonathan shot her a glance that clearly meant for her to be quiet. Moira stuck her tongue out at him.

"Anyway, we thought that they were being kidnapped by pirates and were going to rescue them."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at his sons' tale. "What kind of pirate would waltz into the center of town, in the middle of the day, and kidnap a prominent citizen?"

The boys looked at each other again as they tried to think of a way to fill the loop hole in their story.

"He does look kind of like a pirate, or at least what _I_ think a pirate looks like," suggested Robert. He was only seven, but quick on his feet. "He does have an earring _and _he wears a bandana."

Laura laughed at their response before adding, "They do kind of have a point there, dear. He does look a bit roguish to say the least."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at his wife as he unconsciously rubbed at his own earlobe –where his tiny gold loop used to be.

Moira heaved a dramatic sigh and tugged on her mother's sleeve. "That's Will's _father_. He can't be a pirate. Pirates are bad. And Will isn't bad. So his father can't be bad either." The determination in her voice let her brothers know that there was no way they would be able to find a flaw in her logic.

Jonathan and Robert glared at Moira again, but she studiously ignored him. She was most certainly wasn't helping them talk their way out of trouble and they hadn't even gotten to that part yet. There was something humiliating about being bested by their four almost five-year-old sister.

"I still think we're missing the part about why we should be hearing from the school master?" Nathaniel interceded before the children could begin to squabble.

"Yes, papa," both boys answered simultaneously. Moira sat up straighter in her chair and sipped her tea as if nothing could possibly be amiss.

Jonathan continued, "We saw Mrs. Turner and Will with the pirate, I mean Captain Turner, and decided to follow them. Just in case, you know. They _might_ have needed rescuing."

"But we had to miss our afternoon classes to do that," Robert said in a tiny voice, perhaps hoping his parents didn't hear. "It would have been all right if they had really needed us," he added much louder.

"And did they need you?" their mother queried.

"I don't think so, but it was kind of strange," Robert answered. Both parents could tell by Robert's tone that he was serious and no longer trying to get himself out of trouble.

Nathaniel and Laura exchanged curious glances. The very appearance of Captain Turner, a man they believed to be dead – no matter what his wife claimed, had piqued their interest the night before. Add to that the appearance of Estrella Brantley, who had known both Turners for years, yet seemed oddly unsure of them and more than a bit uneasy in the Captain's presence. Now they were about to throw Jonathan and Robert's tale into the mix? A tale that they had already admitted would sound strange? Had the elder Cavanaughs not been convinced there was a mystery to be solved before they certainly were intrigued now.

"Strange? How so?" Laura's natural nosiness was beginning to take control, but she managed to keep her tone more conversational than interrogatory.

Jonathan took over the conversation. "They went to the beach below the cliffs. We didn't follow them down there. We know they're off limits. _But…._there was a ship there – a big grayish, white one. It didn't look quite real. The sails were kind of tattered and we couldn't see anyone on deck."

"It was a ghost ship!" Robert exclaimed as his older brother cast an evil look at him.

"Anyway, they met a man there. He was kind of old looking and his clothes were kind of worn. I think he might have been a _real_ pirate. I think he was arguing with Captain Turner, but we couldn't hear very well."

"Oh?" Laura and Nathaniel both were all ears now.

Robert wasn't about to allow his older brother to claim all the glory – although allowing him to take all the blame might not be so bad. "He called him 'father.' I heard it."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "No, he didn't. I think he said something about 'farther.' Maybe he wanted him to move the ship."

Robert narrowed his eyes at his brother and clenched his fists. "No, I'm sure he called him 'father.' Mother, tell him I'm right!"

"I have no idea who's right, but it's quite a tale you have there. What happened next?"

"We don't know. If we had stayed any longer you would have known we didn't go to school yesterday afternoon, but I guess we should have stayed because you know now," Jonathan dejectedly admitted.

Nathaniel looked at his wife again; his face was a mask of concern, but his eyes full of curiosity. "Boys, I think it's time you headed off to school now – for the _entire_ day, I might add. We'll discuss your punishment later."

"Yes, sir," They both answered as they picked up their books and headed for the door that connected the family's living quarters with the main room of the tavern.

Laura pushed herself away from the table to follow the boys out. As always, Moira was right on her heels. The interior of the tavern was still very dark at this hour, but the early morning light trickling through the front windows was sufficient for their purposes. Jonathan unbarred the heavy front door and pulled it open only to find a woman around the age of his mother, accompanied by three young children, preparing to knock on it. He jumped back - startled by the unexpected find.

"Estrella! Good morning! I didn't expect to see you here quite this early, but I'm actually quite grateful you are," Laura exclaimed. "All right, boys. It's time to head off to school and I expect you to stay there _all _day this time. We'll discuss your punishment when you come home."

Jonathan and Robert cautiously eyed T.J. and Jacob as they slipped out the door. The look they gave their mother openly asked why it was that they had to go to school while these two boys did not. It was quite apparent that they were in the same age group. Laura could almost see their over active imaginations start to concoct a way to use this curiosity to their advantage when it came time to argue the case of their punishment.

"They're quite handsome boys," Estrella commented as she accepted Laura's gesture to come inside. Her children followed close behind.

Laura noticed the family's distinct lack of possessions. Each child carried naught but one small bundle while Estrella carried the basket that Laura had loaned her the evening before.

"Should we send one of the stable hands to retrieve the rest of your belongings?"

"No, ma'am. This is it. We've moved so much lately we've had to restrict ourselves to what we could carry. Although I admit it's going to make setting up housekeeping at bit of a challenge for us."

"Nonsense! I think that may be the least of your worries today. We have plenty of room here. This property was converted to barracks when the Company was here. That's what made it so easy for Mrs. Turner to have it converted into a boarding house and tavern. We live in what were the old officer's quarters, but what used to be the staff quarters are unoccupied. I'll admit they're in serious need of a good cleaning, but there should be plenty of space for you and your children. Since they're just across the courtyard it will be easy for you to keep an eye on your little girl while you're working. I assume the boys are normally in school?"

"No, ma'am. They've never been to school." Estrella sounded embarrassed.

Laura was seriously taken aback by this.

T.J. stepped from behind his mother and spoke up before she had a chance to offer any explanation. "Our papa said he's done just fine without knowing how to read and write so he didn't see any reason why we needed to know either. He won't – wouldn't even let mother teach us."

"T.J.!" Estrella looked terribly humiliated by her son's explanation – no matter how truthful it was.

"I'm sorry, mama," he said softly as he quietly resumed his place behind her, next to his younger siblings.

"Hmmm, well, we'll have to see about that. I can't imagine what my boys will say if yours don't go to school too." Actually Laura _could _imagine what they would say – she could imagine it quite well. She just wasn't willing to tolerate it.

"Will your little girl play with me?" asked a tiny voice.

Laura started – Moira was being so uncharacteristically quiet that she had nearly forgotten she was there.

Estrella bent down to Moira's level. "Her name is Amelia. She's very shy, but I'm sure she would love to play with you if your mother will allow it. I think the two of you are very close in age."

"I'm Moira, you can play with my dolls if you like," the little girl grinned at her new found playmate as she offered her a hand.

Amelia looked up at her mother for permission before accepting the invitation. Estrella smiled and nodded – inwardly relieved that her only daughter might have found an ally amidst the collection of mischievous boys.

Laura turned and motioned for the Brantley family to follow her. "Why ever wouldn't I allow it? Nathaniel and I don't put much stock in worrying if our children's friends are from the proper social class." She said this last part in a mock nasally voice. "It's one of the reasons we feel so comfortable running the tavern for the Turners – I've_ never_ seen them put on airs. Actually, I haven't seen _Mrs._ Turner put on airs. Yesterday was the first time I had ever met the Captain." She said thoughtfully as she wrinkled her brow in consternation at having so easily forgotten his sudden appearance.

"Oh, I'm sure you won't find Will acting like that. I don't think he could if he tried. Besides, it's not as if _he _was ever in a position to look down on anyone." Estrella confided in her new mistress as they passed through a narrow hallway at the back of the tavern. To one side was the bar with its collection of mugs and barrels- to the other was a large storeroom for foodstuffs and what have you. Behind the bar was the entrance to a moderately sized kitchen well equipped to cook for a large number of people. Estrella peeked in the doorway before continuing her commentary. "Miss Swann - Mrs. _Turner_, could easily have turned out to be an arrogant brat had she not met Will."

Laura made a mental note to pursue that comment at a later time as the small entourage passed from the house into the courtyard behind the house and tavern. In the center was the pump and water trough that had been used for the horses, to one side were the stables that the owners and clientele of the Flash of Green used. Completing the square was the building that Nathaniel used as his brewery and a row of small apartments that had one time housed the facility's staff. Laura led the group to the centermost door among them.

"It's very small, but I'm sure the Turner's won't mind if we remodel a bit to give you more room. If we take out a wall or two, there should be enough space for all of your children to have their own room. There is no kitchen, but it shouldn't be a problem for you to pop across the courtyard to the main building. I'm afraid the linens are not in the finest condition, but they're clean."

Jacob tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Did she say we would have our _own_ rooms?" he asked incredulously. "_And _we can go to school?" The boy's emerald eyes were wide in wonderment.

"So it would seem," she assured him, although her voice was still cautious. "But it will mean lots of work. We have to clean this place up first _and _then we'll see about school."

"I should say we can have this place livable in no time if we all pitch in," Laura chimed in.

The remainder of the morning was spent sweeping floors, washing windows, beating rugs, airing out mattresses and countless other chores. A chorus of sneezes echoed through the tiny rooms as dust flew everywhere. Endless buckets of water came and went as a rather pleasant living space emerged from the filth and gloom. Estrella looked around at their finished product, quite pleased with herself. All she needed was to add some curtains and maybe some fresh flowers on the scarred table and it would easily be nicer than anywhere she had lived since marrying Thomas – not that much was required to accomplish that.

Laura put both of her hands on her back and stretched. She had forgotten how quickly she got tired when she was pregnant – and she was barely three months along. She was more than ready to get off of her feet for a few minutes, but she was not nearly as ready to do that as she was to further press Estrella for information about the Turner family. It had not escaped her attention that the woman tended to refer to Mrs. Turner by her maiden name, although that was not nearly quite as odd as the fact that she called _Captain _Turner by his first name. Actually, now that she thought about it, Estrella had called him Will as opposed to the more formal William. How was it that she was on such familiar terms with a man that no one else had even seen, much less met?

"If we're all finished here, why don't we send your boys off to explore the premises, Moira and Amelia can go upstairs and play, and you and I can get better acquainted over tea," Laura suggested all the while hoping that she didn't sound too eager to start questioning her new employee.

"That would be lovely. I must admit I could use a bit of rest."

Estrella hardly had a chance to grant her children permission to have themselves some fun before they were off - like a shot. She smiled apologetically at Laura as she shrugged her shoulders.

"They've had far too much responsibility for ones so young," she offered in explanation. "I'm afraid time to just be children has been a rare commodity for them."

"We'll have to make sure that changes! Now let's go inside for a while. It's entirely too hot for me today and it's not even June yet."

The two women made their way back into the cool, dim interior of the tavern. Laura showed Estrella a small table with two chairs near the bar where they could sit. As Estrella rested, Laura returned to the kitchen area and filled a teapot from the ever present kettle kept hot by the fire, then added the tea leaves to steep. She then retrieved a plate of left over fried apple pies from the day before and set them on counter as she gathered tea cups, spoons, sugar and a small pitcher of milk. She neatly arranged everything on a wooden tray before returning to the main room of the tavern.

Estrella was sitting quietly with her eyes closed – apparently enjoying the silence when Laura startled her by setting the tray on the table.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's quite all right. I think given a moment I could just fall asleep right here. It hasn't been easy for us since Thomas left."

"Left? I thought you were a widow."

"Since he left me a widow, I mean," Estrella covered her near blunder quickly, hoping all the while that Laura had not noticed. While she was the one who had done the _leaving_ per se, her planning has started the minute Thomas had walked out the door and headed back to sea.

Laura caught the slight hesitation in Estrella's voice but chose to disregard it. Delving into her history might prove interesting at a later date, but at the moment her mind was set on picking her brain about the Turners. With any luck, she and Nathaniel would have lots to talk about this evening after they went to bed.

Laura picked up the teapot and began pouring. "So, Estrella, Mrs. Turner said you used to be her maid? How did you become acquainted with the Captain?"

"The Captain?" Estrella sounded confused for a moment. "Oh, you mean Will. That was a lifetime ago. I was just fourteen then. I had already been a maid in the Governor's mansion for two years by that point." she said wistfully. "And yet I remember it like it was yesterday. It was August, the first time I saw them, and it was oh so hot, unusually so - even for here. He and Elizabeth arrived the same day, on the same boat, in fact. They were both twelve, maybe eleven. Of course, I didn't meet Elizabeth until she was sixteen and I became her personal maid – as a birthday gift from her father no less. But Will couldn't have possibly been here long before I met him. I had a younger brother about the same age who tried to befriend him, but they were never much more than acquaintances so I can't say as I knew him very well, he was – still is apparently, very quiet, shy even. He kept to himself mostly."

"So their families knew each other back in England? Were they betrothed even then?" Laura sighed as her mind began to dance with the romantic images of a young couple who had, against all odds, fallen in love with the spouse their parents had chosen for them. Heaven knew it was a rare occurrence. Being wealthy, titled and well connected might alleviate some of life's problems, but it did have its drawbacks when it came to personal happiness.

Estrella laughed, startling Laura out of her daydream. "Oh, heavens no! They most certainly would never have crossed each other's paths back in London. No, no, the ship Will was traveling on was attacked by pirates. The ship Elizabeth and her father were on rescued him and brought him here with them. He's an orphan." Estrella took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes as she savored its taste and aroma. She couldn't remember the last time they had been able to afford tea, much less sugar to put in it. It would be quite easy to get used to a life like this.

"You were saying?" Laura prompted.

"What? Oh yes," Estrella shook her head to clear her thoughts. "I remember all of us servants being told to wear our best clothes to meet the new Governor. We were all lined up outside the main entrance like an honor guard or something. I can remember thinking how much of a little lady Miss Elizabeth looked – her hair was perfectly coifed and she was wearing the most beautiful pale green dress I had ever seen." Estrella's voice trailed off dreamily at the memory.

"And Will?" Laura quickly ascertained that although information from her new employee was easy to come by, keeping her conversation focused was a bit more of a challenge.

"Aye, he was with them too. Following behind Miss Elizabeth like a lost puppy. He wasn't much to look at then, what with him being all scrawny and dirty. He didn't even have any shoes. I remember one of the other maids saying he reminded her of an orphaned fawn. I suppose it was his eyes." Estrella paused to sip her tea again.

"So they grew up together at the mansion?"

Estrella looked appalled. "Oh, heavens no! That would have been terribly inappropriate and the Governor was a stickler for propriety. No, he arranged for Will to apprentice with Mr. Brown, what with him being in need of some help and Will being in need of a place to live."

"Mr. Brown? I'm afraid I've never heard of him." Laura's mind was reeling with the improbabilities suggested by her new found information. Elizabeth was the only daughter of the island's governor – a detail she had thus far neglected to mention, while her now husband had been a shipwrecked orphan apprenticed to do _what _exactly. The rules of propriety dictated that the pair of them should never even have met and considering what Estrella had said about Elizabeth's father and propriety – it just wasn't making any sense. Not only should they have never had any contact past that initial meeting, there was even less of a chance that they would marry.

"He was the blacksmith, a quite good one at that – until his wife died. He succumbed to the evils of the bottle after that. Will had to have been around seventeen then – old enough to do the required work himself, but not old enough to be given credit, much less get paid for his efforts." Estrella finished her tea, allowing the warm liquid to roll around on her tongue for a few moments before swallowing the delicious brew. "You can't imagine some of the excuses and plans Miss Elizabeth came up with just to spend a few minutes with him."

"Such as?" Laura picked up the bone china teapot and refilled Estrella's cup.

Estrella laughed lightly as she added sugar to her tea and stirred. "When she was sixteen, almost seventeen and it became apparent that Mrs. Brown was terribly ill, Miss Elizabeth decided that it was her duty to minister to the sick and less fortunate. She knew exactly what time Will would come home for meals and made sure she was there then. He was always so careful to make sure they were never unchaperoned. Of course that all ended when when Mrs. Brown passed away."

"And her father _allowed _their courtship at such a young age? He must have been a very forward thinking man!" Laura pondered Estrella's last comment. Did she mean that Elizabeth's sudden urge to nurse the less fortunate had ended or that the young couple had rethought their stance on chaperones. It certainly wouldn't be the first case of a young woman from a more socially elite class engaging in a dalliance with a commoner, but they most certainly didn't _marry _them.

"No, ma'am. They weren't courting. That wasn't until much later, but I do think they've been in love with each other since the day they met. Although I can't say as either one of them would have admitted to it then."

"So they tried to keep their romance hidden from everyone?" Laura again began to conjure up images of a secret illicit romance that had caught everyone off guard.

Estrella smiled to herself – lost in some long ago memory. "I don't know as I would say they even realized it. I had been in service to Miss Elizabeth for two years or so before I noticed. We were all so young then, but I can still remember that day…." Estrella's voice trailed off dreamily.

Laura watched her for a moment as she tried to decide if she needed to press the woman for more details or if she would continue the story of her own accord. Estrella's eyes seemed oddly unfocused as she began to speak again. It was almost as if she had been transported to another place, another time, another life.

"It was October. I remember that because the weather had started to cool off a bit. They would have been eighteen by then. Miss Elizabeth had gone out riding, but her horse threw a shoe. She came back to the stables while one of the grooms went to get Will. I recall how strange I thought it that she would insist on staying while he made another shoe when she could have just taken a different horse for the day. And it wasn't like she ever paid much attention to how things were done. She was terribly spoiled. If she wanted something done she just expected it to be taken care of without a thought as to who did it or how it was done. And yet, she was so anxious for Will to get there."

"How could she be sure that it wouldn't be Mr. Brown who came?"

"By that time, he was so deep into his cups that he never did any of the work anymore. For all practical purposes, Will finished his apprenticeship on his own. But that's neither here nor there," Estrella slowly drifted away again to that long ago afternoon as she continued her story. "Will was filthy. There was no telling what he had been working on, but he had dropped everything to rush to the stables. I always wanted to believe it was for no reason other than for the remote chance that he would see Elizabeth. As you can imagine, I couldn't have been less interested in the proceedings – shoeing horses was far beneath me as a proper lady's maid." She said the last part in a mock haughty voice. "I had actually wandered off to play with a litter of kittens. I hadn't really noticed there was no one else there and that I was in charge of being her chaperone – I was hardly much older than that were. It wasn't something I had ever had to pay any mind to. "

"What happened?" Laura's curiosity was about to get the best of her at the prospect of solving the mystery.

"Nothing. Everything. I'm not sure I really know. They started out just talking. Bear in mind that Will seldom talked to anyone and yet that day with Miss Elizabeth he talked about anything and everything. I could tell from their conversation that there were very few things that they didn't know about each other, so they had to have had many conversations I wasn't privy to. It wasn't long before they were openly flirting with each other. I knew I should have come back right then and put a stop to it, but I couldn't. I was just so taken aback at how _comfortable_ they were with each other, especially knowing that they seldom ever acknowledged each other in public. I felt like I was intruding on a private moment just by listening, which I suppose I was, but they just seemed so happy and so right together."

"And is that when they started courting?"

"No, I still don't think they realized that what they shared was somehow special. I would have just left them to their own devices that day, but I heard someone else come in the stable. I knew that Elizabeth's father would have been incensed at her behavior and who knows what Will's punishment might have been….so I kicked one of the stall doors shut so they would remember that they weren't alone. It was almost sad to hear Will clam up and pull back into himself again. I could tell by the way they looked at each other that whatever they felt was mutual. I always made a point to watch them more closely after that. You would know that Miss Elizabeth's horse seemed to have tremendous difficulty with its shoes after that – it wouldn't have surprised me to find her sneaking out at night to pry out the nails herself just for a chance to see Will." Estrella's normally sad eyes twinkled with amusement at the memory.

"So you took it upon yourself to watch them to prevent anything…. _inappropriate_?" Laura asked suspiciously.

"Oh,_ no_ ma'am. Will was almost fanatical about following the rules of propriety. I just wanted them to end up together. I don't know why exactly. Maybe it's because the thought of things working out for them helped me to believe anything was possible. If you had seen them, you would understand. I so wanted what they had – _have._"

"So how did they end up together?"

"That would have been after the incident with the pirates. Things were _very _different after that."

"Pirates?" The shock was evident in both Laura's clipped voice and her face.

"Yes, ma'am. There was gossip that Will's father was a pirate, but Miss Elizabeth never really talked about that time much and it wasn't my place to ask her."

"I thought you said the Captain was an orphan?" The wealth of incongruent information and titillating, albeit it ancient, gossip was beginning to make Laura's head spin.

"That's one of those things no one really knows for sure, I don't even think Will does. Everyone assumed he was or is, I suppose, but he told my brother that he came to the Caribbean to look for his father after his mother died. I guess he must have stopped looking after he came here because he wouldn't even go near the water unless he had to, much less get on a boat." Estrella looked puzzled for a moment as if some exceedingly strange thought had just crossed her mind.

"And what else did he tell your brother?"

"Not much that I recall. As I said, Will may wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he keeps what he knows to himself. I think that's why he and my brother never really got to be good friends. It was just too much work. All Will ever seemed to do was work far too hard, practice swordplay, and pine over Elizabeth. There wasn't any room in his life for anything else."

"And yet Elizabeth got to know him." The enigma that was Will Turner was rapidly becoming more and more complex. How had a possibly orphaned blacksmith's apprentice win the hand of a beautiful young woman of society. Granted, Laura had only met him the one time, but he hadn't seemed the type to take undue advantage of a woman – an advantage that could possibly have resulted in an unplanned and unexpected pregnancy? Not to mention the fact that Elizabeth Turner was certainly not the type of woman to allow herself to be taken advantage of. Estrella had just said they had been _allowed_ to court. That in itself was peculiar, but to learn that he was possibly the son of a pirate too? Hadn't her own sons just that morning said they thought he was one? They were normally quite astute observers of people and yet…… There was that proverb about apples not falling far from the tree. None of this made any sense to her at all. .

"There were nigh on to inseparable after he rescued her. Of course, they still abided by what was considered proper behavior in public, but they were quite affectionate when they thought they were alone." Estrella blushed faintly at some long forgotten memory.

"Oh! I think I understand now. Would I be correct in assuming that they had a rather quick and quiet wedding?" She knew it. Things like this didn't happen unless there were extenuating circumstances. Laura had to admit that Will Turner was handsome enough that had could probably have any woman he wanted and from what she had seen his wife clearly still desired his attentions, but something about her proposed scenario didn't quite ring true. They certainly didn't seem like a couple that had been forced to wed in an attempt to cover up such an indiscretion –not that such events were all that uncommon. It was just that the solution in most cases tended to be a hurried wedding to an appropriate suitor followed by a"premature" birth some months later – never mind that the child in question bore more of a resemblance to one of the grooms than the lady in question's husband. There was no doubt that William was Captain Turner's biological child. Then again, they wouldn't be the first couple to have ever had to reschedule a wedding because they had gotten caught up in the heat of the moment with sometimes unexpected results.

"I honestly don't know." Estrella looked down at her nearly empty teacup. Her body language betrayed her sense of regret and possibly shame. "I left Port Royal under circumstances much like you suggested before Miss Elizabeth and Will married. I know they had set a date and Miss Elizabeth was quite caught up in the preparations, but it didn't go according to plan. I don't know any details, just idle gossip. Truthfully I didn't know they were even still alive, much less married until I saw them yesterday."

"I would think her father would have chosen a suitor for her a bit more in line with their social class. Perhaps he merely rescinded his permission?" Laura toyed with the spoon she had used to stir her tea. Estrella's tale had her intrigued. The mystery of Elizabeth and Will Turner was getting stranger by the second. She kept reminding herself that people just did _not _interact with others not of their class, much less marry them. How _had_ it happened that the pair had ended up together and how did pirates and a mysterious rescue play a role in the story? And how was it that a blacksmith's apprentice had ended up becoming a ship's Captain. It wasn't as if the two professions went hand in hand. She could see now that Estrella could prove to be a wealth of information and not just gossip. Estrella began speaking again, distracting Laura from her thoughts.

"Oh, to be certain, he did. The Governor wanted her to marry Commodore Norrington. She had even accepted his proposal, but he stepped aside for Will. It was _quite _the scandal, but once her father gave them permission I can't imagine him going back on his word. He just wasn't like that."

"And who is…" Laura never got to finish her question.

"Scandal? Did I hear somebody say scandal?" Nathaniel's booming voice echoed throughout the empty room. "The only thing scandalous I know is that my own wife has neglected to feed me any lunch."

Laura put down the spoon she had been twirling absent mindedly and tilted her head towards her husband. The look she gave him let him know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his timing had been less than perfect. "We were just having tea and a nice friendly _chat_," she announced in a clipped voice "getting to know one another and all that."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh. I do apologize. I suppose I should be getting to my duties – that is if one of you will tell me what you would like me to do first," Estrella stammered, suddenly nervous that she had annoyed her new employer.

Nathaniel started at his wife's face in a vain attempt to read her thoughts. "Nonsense, I'm sure you've had a busy day already. Why don't you spend the rest of the afternoon looking around the place and we'll have you start in earnest tomorrow. Thursdays aren't really all that busy anyway." He might not be able to tell what Laura was thinking, but it was crystal clear that she was dying to tell him something.

"Thank you, sir, ma'am. I think I could use a bit of a rest," she said as she stood up, stretched, then rubbed the small of her back with both hands.

"That settles it then! We shall start in the kitchens in the morning," Laura declared while flashing her best smile at Estrella.

Laura walked with Estrella as far as the rear doors that led to the courtyard. She watched her cross the dirt paved enclosure before returning to the cool, dark interior of the building and her waiting husband.

"Do _I _have something to tell you!" she said with a nod of her head.


	12. What Mercedes Saw

Mrs. Lansford stood at the bottom of the stairs; still wiping her hands clean on her apron as she watched Evan gently lead Mercedes from the Turner's bedroom and then gently close the door behind him. It was evident even from where she stood that the girl was still trembling. Mercedes lifted her head up once to see where she was going and then practically collapsed into Evan. The girl's face was quite red, tears were streaming down her face and she was still mumbling to herself in Spanish. What was unclear to the family cook was whether Mercedes' reaction was from fear, shock, embarrassment, surprise or _what_. All she could do was to wait for Evan to get her back downstairs and find out. Mrs. Lansford sent up a silent prayer that the current display of histrionics was from the normally easily startled girl finding an unexpected extra person in the room. She did not discount the distinct possibility that the mostly sheltered Mercedes had witnessed something that might take a bit more tact and care in explaining. 

Evan put his arm around Mercedes shoulders as he helped her down the steps. She was obviously quite upset. She released a strangled cry as they simultaneously stepped on the creaky fifth riser. She had done it countless times before, but today her nerves were so frazzled that the sound startled her. It briefly crossed Evan's mind to add fixing the step to his duties for the day. What if Captain Turner decided his services were no longer required? Leaving something so blatant as a loose board unrepaired where his wife and son could hurt themselves was not exactly the kind of thing to recommend oneself. He mentally rebuked himself as he remembered that his concern at the moment was the frightened girl in his arms and not himself. 

"Take her out to the garden, I'll get her some tea," Mrs. Lansford ordered as she turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

"_Tea_?" Evan stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared incredulously at Mrs. Lansford's retreating figure. 

"Do ye have a better suggestion at them moment, Mr. Ross? If so, I'll be more than happy to hear it," she called back, but never missed a step. 

The area of the Turner compound commonly referred to as the garden was actually a rather small space set off to the side of the house between the kitchen and the street. Most of it was somewhat haphazardly landscaped as no member of the household was overly inclined towards the type of work necessary to maintain a _proper_ garden. There was however a small outdoor "parlour" of sorts where Mrs. Turner went to read or just think. Here there were rose bushes, flowers in pots, a miniature knot garden made of kitchen and medicinal herbs (maintained by the formidable Mrs. Lansford, of course), and a not entirely uncomfortable wooden bench positioned beneath the shade of a lignum vitae tree that had been growing in that spot long before the house was built. Its branches were loaded with buds, some of which had already burst forth to reveal their glorious sky- blue blooms. It was here that Evan brought Mercedes in hopes of both calming her down and explaining to her the miraculous event that had taken place not even two full days before. 

Mercedes all but collapsed onto the bench and wrapped her arms around herself. She had stopped crying aside from the occasional sniffle, but her face was still red, her eyes still puffy. Evan could not decide if her closed off position was from anger, humiliation or both. She stared at the house and studiously ignored him standing in front of her. Fortunately for Evan, Mrs. Lansford arrived shortly after with the promised mugs of tea for the both of them. She regarded Mercedes with one eyebrow raised for a few moments before returning her attention to Evan.

"Can ye handle this or might this be a situation that needs a more _motherly_ type intervention?" She kept her tone even as she offered to relieve Evan of what could potentially be an equally awkward situation for him.

"I'm not sure I follow. Why would she….." his voice trailed off as he realized what Mrs. Lansford was implying. He could feel the heat begin to rise in his own face. He glanced nervously back to Mercedes. 

The girl also blushed a bit as she reached for her mug of tea and shook her head. "They were still esleeping. I wake them," she whispered "And I'm no so ignorant as you both seem to believe," she added in an almost defiant tone. 

Evan made no effort to conceal his sigh of relief to learn that the situation wasn't as _delicate _as it could have been and that Mercedes was talking again – and in English.

"I shall leave the two of you to it then since it would appear I have another mouth to feed today."

Evan again watched Mrs. Lansford leave as he made another note to himself to be more cautious around her for she was far more resourceful _and_ cunning than he had ever imagined. From their earlier conversation it was clear that she had suspected Will had returned so it wasn't as if she hadn't started making modifications to her schedule accordingly. Any other day she herself would have taken charge of coddling Mercedes, but today she had ostensibly decided to use the opportunity to throw the two of them together. He recalled her earlier comment about Mercedes' interest in him and how he had scoffed at it. How things went from here would prove her right or wrong one way or the other. 

"I broke the pitcher." Mercedes stared intently at the ground and her damp shoes. 

Evan started at the sound of her voice. He would never have expected her to voluntarily bring up what had happened. He had half way expected her to start blaming someone else for the mess or to pretend it hadn't happened – not that he blamed her, she was still hardly much more than a child after all. 

"And now my dress is all wet," she lamented as she set down her mug of tea and began to brush at her skirt and apron. 

"It will dry, it's just water," he offered as he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. 

"Do you think she'll be _enojada, _angry?" Her voice was wary. She made no effort to pull her hands away from his, but she still kept her head down. 

"No, it was just an accident and I should have thought to tell you not to go. If need be, I'll take the blame. "

"And why would you have thought to do that?" Mercedes looked curiously up at Evan.

"Because I knew there was a chance he would be home?" Evan tried to sound apologetic, but it was unclear from Mercedes reaction if it was working or not. 

"He? That wasn't an ordinary man in there."

"Of course it was." Evan was beginning to sound concerned over where this was leading. Mercedes had always been more comfortable than most with things of a more supernatural nature. _Did she really sense something different about Will Turner or was this a case of her sometimes slightly confused English?_

"No, not quite," she said shaking her head slightly.

"I don't understand. That's Captain Turner, her husband, Will's father."

Mercedes sighed and rolled her eyes. "She calls him William now. And I can tell from the look of him that was his father. He's just not the same as us."

"_Is _his father, not _was_ his father. He's back now and he's staying. I think you'll find he's more like us than Mrs. Turner is. He grew up poor. He was a blacksmith before," Evan explained in hopes it would alleviate some of her fears.

"No, not like that. He's _different _. There's something of the _más allá, _worlds beyond this one about him – like a ghost, but he's not." Mercedes sounded defeated; her face reflected her frustration at explaining something so intangible. Her eyes pleaded with Evan to understand - either because she didn't think he would believe her or because her explanation was somewhat lacking.

Evan drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. "_I_," he started, then hesitated. "I don't know how to answer that, but I can say he's most likely seen some things that most people can't even imagine, but he's just an ordinary man. "_ As much as someone with his life experiences can ever be deemed ordinary._

"You know him then?" Mercedes smiled slightly as she realized Evan had begun to caress the backs of her hands with his thumbs.

"I just know of him. Just stories, mostly. I was at the battle where he was ki- kept from coming back to her." Evan's heart started pounding as he realized what he had nearly allowed to slip. Surely Mercedes would be told more of the story now that Will was back, but it was most certainly not Evan's place to do so. "I've been following in her footsteps ever since that day."

"I've heard her say that. Will he let us stay, do you think?"

"Is _that _what you're worried about? Mrs. Turner promised us a home when she took us in. I'm sure Captain Turner knows about us, even if he's never seen us. We'll be fine – so just put that thought out of your head."

"I'm still so ashamed. How am I ever going to face him?"

"I told you it's mostly my fault. If anyone is to take the blame it will be me."

"Does that mean you'll clean up the mess for me?" The flirtatious lilt to her voice was obvious enough that even Evan could not miss it. 

"Oh, so now the truth comes out! You just wanted me to do some of your work for you?" He looked her straight in the eyes. He had never quite noticed how bright they were despite them being nearly black.

Mercedes just giggled and pulled his hands in closer to her. She stared back at him, but was far more intrigued by his lips at the moment. She unconsciously bit her own lower lip as she thought about how much she would like for him to kiss her, but she had no idea how to go about making that happen. At twenty-one Evan seemed so much more worldly and mature than her seventeen – or at least from Mercedes' perspective he did. 

Evan didn't even really think about it. He simply reacted on impulse. One second he was just admiring her eyes and the next his lips were ever so lightly brushing hers.

"I see Mrs. Turner's lax attitude towards propriety and station extends beyond that boy to her servants as well?" Ivan Tolliver's familiar nasal whine cut through the morning air. Normally its unpleasant timbre merely set people's teeth on edge. Today it was worse – far worse. He was quite obviously in a foul mood and ready to share it with anyone. 

Evan snapped back from his and Mercedes' almost kiss and jumped back to his feet, but not before knocking over one of the mugs of tea – further wetting her already damp skirt. Mercedes dropped her head and blushed furiously as she leaped to her feet and ran hurriedly back to the kitchen. 

"Mr. Tolliver! I, um, you startled me," Evan stammered as he retrieved the overturned mug. "Why did you not go to the front door?" Evan tried to sound equally disapproving as Will's tutor did, after all, only friends and family used the garden entrance – Mr. Tolliver having no hope of being either, but knew that in truth, the man had most likely gone to the front door first, but who would have been there to answer it? That was his or Mercedes job and thus far they had managed to muck up pretty much everything this morning. 

Mr. Tolliver raised one exceptionally thin eyebrow questioningly. Even knew the intent was to make him look even sterner, but the effect was far more comical. Evan repressed a laugh that could have done nothing but make things worse than they already were. 

"I must apologize. We seem to have gotten off to a bit of a rough start this morning and William isn't up yet. I'm afraid that's my fault – I detained Mercedes from her regular duties this morning." Evan wasn't in the habit of bending the truth, but it was a far better option than telling the odious man what had really happened. 

"So I noticed," Mr. Tolliver sniffed. "I may have to have a friendly talk with Mrs. Turner about that."

Evan wondered if Will's tutor honestly believed that his painfully ineffectual threat would scare him. "Perhaps Mrs. Lansford can make you some tea while you wait? I'm sure it won't take but a few minutes to get him up and ready."

"And exactly where is the boy's mother? Shouldn't that be her responsibility? Surely she's not still abed at this hour? If that's not proof that she needs a man around to control her, then I don't know what is," Mr. Tolliver proclaimed arrogantly as was his habit. He pressed lips equally thin as his eyebrows together disapprovingly as he imperiously glared at Evan. 

Evan quirked a quick smile and rolled his eyes as he turned towards the kitchen, hoping as he did that Mercedes wasn't so flustered that she hadn't warned Mrs. Lansford about what the most recent problem was. It wasn't the first time the three servants had banded together to protect their charges from the humorless teacher. _What was it Mrs. Lansford always said about him? Oh yes, he's just a tempest in a teapot so don't pay him any mind. _

"Something sweet would be nice too. And I'm not waiting in the kitchen like a common servant. Please bring my tray to the study and be quick about it. And make haste getting the boy too. He's not exactly the most stellar student."

Evan bit his tongue as he led the man to the French doors leading from the breezeway into the dining area. "I trust you know the way from here?" Despite Evan's normally reserved demeanor there were days he wished he could tell the loathsome tutor exactly what he thought of him – today was undeniably one of those days. Evan wisely refrained from comment, but did allow himself to imagine what Mr. Tolliver's reaction would be to meeting the long absent Captain Turner for the first time. It was only with great effort that Evan managed to stifle the laughter that rose in his chest. 

The tutor did not even acknowledge the young man with the most cursory expression of gratitude as he rudely pushed past him into the still darkened house. _And aren't you in for quite the surprise, Mr. Tolliver. Too bad we most likely won't be able to witness it. _Evan turned to head back to the kitchen, but was met by Mercedes carrying the tea tray, complete with biscuits, bread and jam. She smiled shyly at him as he held the door for her. He was so engrossed in watching her cross the room on her way to the study that he completely forgot he was still holding the door open. The sound of someone not so discretely clearing their throat caught his attention. He turned to see Mrs. Lansford standing in the kitchen doorway looking quite like the cat who had caught the canary. There was no need for him to ask what had inspired her expression. She knew she had been right in her evaluation of what he and Mercedes felt and she obviously did not require any confirmation of such. Evan smiled back at her, blushing slightly, then turned to go back in the house. 

Will was sound asleep, or at least he had been until he heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs – the high pitched shriek of that one step assailed his ears. That made the second time this morning he had been unexpectedly jolted out of a deep slumber. _I need to do something about that step_, he thought sleepily as he rolled over onto his back. He cautiously opened one eye and scanned the room, and was grateful to see that he and Elizabeth had been spared another intruder. He could tell by the amount of light in the room that it was much later than he had ever slept in his life. On board the _Dutchman _he hadn't really slept in the traditional sense of the word and when he was still a blacksmith he would have long since been up and hard at work, if not even finishing up for the day. If for no other reason than to avoid the hottest part of the day – not to mention that he had gotten in the habit of spending his afternoons with Elizabeth or practicing with his sword, sometimes both. 

Elizabeth mumbled something incomprehensible in her sleep as she rolled over to be next to her husband. Will reached out one hand and brushed her hair out of her face. Her only response was to burrow further under the blanket. It was quite apparent that she was still quite hard, fast asleep. She had once claimed she could sleep through almost anything and Will was beginning to believe it. It was apparently a distinctly valuable skill in this household. 

Now Will could hear someone knocking insistently on a door. In his current state of grogginess it took him a second or two to process that it wasn't their door, but the noise _was _coming from upstairs. The only other room upstairs that he knew to be occupied was William's, but why would somebody be knocking on his door. Surely he hadn't managed to lock himself in his room and was now trying to get out – that would make no sense at all, most especially given the unfortunate lack of latches in the Turner household.

"Tell him to go away," Elizabeth mumbled.

"Tell who to go away?" Will rolled back to his left side and propped himself up on one elbow as he asked. 

"Whoever is trying to wake me up."

"I don't think it's _you_ they're trying to wake up. It sounds like it's coming from Will's room."

"Will's right here," she said almost incoherently as she put her open palm on his chest, pushed him back on his back and nestled herself closer to him. 

"Not me Will, the other one. You remember him, don't you? He looks a lot like me only much shorter and without quite so many scars?" 

Elizabeth's eyes flew open. "Is it Thursday?" She didn't sound panicked, but the sound of her voice made Will think she had forgotten something. 

"I think so, why?" 

"I don't need this. I don't want this. I'm not going to put up with this. If he says anything then he's had it." she repeated her mantra several times as she threw back the covers, got out of the bed and began to rummage around for her robe. 

"_What_? You're not making any sense."

"William's tutor comes today – _all _day. He has make up lessons for missing yesterday." Elizabeth found her robe draped over a chair, threw it around her and began to pick her way across the soggy ceramic shrapnel scattered in front of their door. 

"I still don't understand why that's a problem." Will also crawled out of the bed and began to dress. He scowled at his less than pristine clothes as he put them on. They had been perfectly serviceable for life with a bunch of men aboard a ghost ship, but that wasn't his world anymore. He resolved to talk to Elizabeth about increasing his sartorial options at their earliest possible convenience. She would know what types of clothing he would need to blend in here now. And while he was at it, a bath would be nice too. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen real soap.

Elizabeth opened to door and peered down the narrow hallway. As she had expected, the door to her son's room was open and she could hear Evan's deep voice pleading with the boy to get up. From the sound of it, Evan's requests were falling upon deaf ears. Will's questioning comment was immediately forgotten as she wondered why her normally compliant child was balking at Evan's instructions. _This will _not _do. _She straightened her robe, double checked that it was tied appropriately and headed down the hall to the boy's room. 

Will sat back down on the edge of the bed with his hands resting to his sides, leaning backwards a bit and replayed the morning's events in his mind. There obviously was a set routine that the Turner household followed in the mornings – a routine that his return had evidently thrown into turmoil. First, he had startled the maid. _Mercedes? Is that her name? _That hadn't exactly been his fault. It wasn't like having servants was something he was familiar with. His own mother had been a housekeeper. He exhaled sharply with repressed laughter as he wondered what the girl had thought. He hadn't shaved in days, his hair was still sleep tangled and it wasn't as if she had expected to see a man in Elizabeth's bed. _At least the scar is gone, _he thought as he unconsciously scratched at his chest. _That would have really done her in. _

Elizabeth's agitation over William being late for his tutor was a mystery as well. Why didn't he go to school with the rest of Port Royal's children? Surely the "_he" _she had referred to in her in her short lived tirade wasn't William. He didn't know his own son very well – _yet_, but he hadn't gotten the impression that he could be a difficult child. Full of mischief? Most assuredly. Difficult? No. Will lay back on the bed, his feet just barely dragging the floor as he waited for his wife to return and further enlighten him as to what his life now entailed. 

Elizabeth stood in the doorway of William's room, a stern look on her face, her arms crossed in front of her as she stared down her only child. The child in question sat on the edge of his narrow bed; still wearing just his night shirt, arms crossed in a manner identical to his mother's and stared back at her with dogged determination. Evan stood off to the side, desperately looking for an escape route from the battle that was about to ensue. 

"William," Elizabeth sighed, her voice filled with exasperation, "I told you he's not up yet. You can see him later."

"But I want to see him _now_." William's voice was calm and steady. He had clearly made up his mind and was not about to change it. 

"We don't always get what we want." Elizabeth began to mentally prepare herself for the siege. _Why did he have to inherit my stubbornness _and_ his father's determination?_

"Please, mama? I need him," William pleaded.

Elizabeth surrendered before the battle had much of a chance to begin. Maybe it was William's rare use of "mama" instead of his usual and much more formal "mother" or maybe it was the plea that he _needed _to see his father. If there was anything she understood, it was what it felt like to _need_ Will. She had managed to suffer through, as had William, but they didn't have to any more. On the surface, it was such a simple request, but in reality it was so much more. What harm could there be in granting it?

"Evan? Would you please go ask my husband to come here?" Elizabeth kept her eyes locked on her son, surveying his face for any hint that she had been taken in by one of his schemes, but she saw nothing in his eyes but relief that he was going to get his wish. 

Evan glanced at William quickly before he left the room. Elizabeth had always said that the boy looked like his father, but until this morning Evan had never understood quite how true that was. Perhaps his hair wasn't quite so curly and he most certainly didn't have his father's moustache and goatee, but he otherwise was an exact replica of his father. How hard must it have been for Elizabeth to see her child every day and not grieve for the time she had lost with the man who sired him? 

Evan peered cautiously into the master bedroom through the door that Elizabeth had left open. What he saw made him smile and almost laugh. Will was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling all the while kicking his legs against the edge of the mattress. He had dressed, but he was still barefoot -shoes nowhere in sight. How many times had Evan seen the man's son do the exact same thing? 

"Excuse me? Captain Turner? Your wife would like for you to come to William's room," Evan said as he focused all his attention on sounding confident and to not betray the nervousness he felt at addressing the man who was a legend in his world. 

Will stopped kicking the mattress, slowly pushed himself back to a seated position and regarded the young man standing in the doorway. "You must be Evan," Will said as more of a statement than a question as he stood up and began to pick his way across the mine field that was the floor of his and Elizabeth's room. 

"I'm sorry about that sir. I'll make sure it gets cleaned up immediately," Evan stammered, suddenly embarrassed for Mercedes.

Will's forehead wrinkled in momentary confusion then looked down at the puddle and shattered bits of the pitcher covering the floor. "It was just an accident," he commented. "Is she all right? I'm afraid I must have terrified her."

"Yes, sir. I didn't think. I should have warned her."

Will looked startled. "You knew?" He was starting to feel uncharacteristically nervous at meeting the young man as it belatedly occurred to him that everyone he had met in the past ten years had been transient at best. This was going to be different having to actually getting to know people again. 

"Yes, sir," Evan answered hesitantly. 

"You've been with her from the beginning, haven't you?" Will smiled at him as he came through the doorway – all the while wondering what it was going to be like living with at least two strangers under his roof. "She's told me about you, but in my mind I think I still imagined you as being not much older than William, but that wouldn't make any sense would it?"

Evan's grass green eyes flashed amusement equal to that of his grin. "No, sir. I'm twenty-one now – I think. And yes, sir. I've been with her since you left." His smile faded and he cast his eyes downward as he said the last part, feeling awkward at having mentioned Will's ordeal. 

"Thank you," Will said softly as he realized the young man was equally, if not more, nervous than Will himself was. "Now I suppose I should see to my wife and son."

Evan looked back up at Will and smiled faintly. "That would be an excellent idea, sir. I wouldn't describe either one of them as patient."

Will looked down the hall towards William's room and then back at Evan. "_That _particular trait is a gift from his mother. Don't ever let her try to convince you otherwise," he confided in a conspiratorial whisper before turning and leaving. 

In the meantime, the standoff in the youngest Turners room was still on. Elizabeth glanced discretely down the hallway looking for her husband. She let out a small sigh of relief as she watched him come out of the room and stop to talk to Evan. They were talking too quietly for her to hear their conversation from this distance, but something told her that it was best not to rush him. After all, they had all the time they wanted now. Mr. Tolliver could just wait. He was, after all, merely an employee, a decidedly disagreeable one at that, while Evan, Mercedes, and even to an extent, Mrs. Lansford were more like extended family.

Will questioningly raised one eyebrow when he noticed his wife peeping out into the hall. She smiled slightly as she offered him the same inquisitive expression in return. He smiled back at her as he made his way down the hall and the unknown problem that awaited him. 

Will had no sooner stepped into the room before William literally launched himself from the bed to collide with his father, nearly knocking the larger of the pair to his knees. 

"PAPA!" The sheer volume of his voice made it unlikely that anyone in the house didn't hear him. William threw his arms around his father's waist and hugged him tightly. 

Will leaned down to hug his son in return. "Good morning to you, too," he said merrily. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"I dreamed you left again," William said in the tiniest whisper imaginable. 

Will heard Elizabeth's audible gasp as he dropped to his knees and hugged his son even tighter. He wrapped one arm securely around the boy's midsection and placed on large, callused hand on the back of his head as the boy nestled in. "I'm still here. I won't leave you again, I promised. Hasn't your mother told you that I always keep my promises?" Will felt his son nod his head. He continued to embrace him for a few moments, breathing in his still sleep warm scent, before he tackled what surely must be the other issue at hand. "Don't you need to be getting dressed for your lessons?"

"Yes, sir," he answered with a dramatic sigh as he pulled away from his father. 

"I'll get your clothes, you start washing up," his mother announced. 

"Mother! I don't want any _girls _in here while I'm getting dressed."

Will turned his face towards his wife and tried not to laugh at her horrified expression. Elizabeth might have been shocked initially, but she quickly recovered. Her heart filled with pride as she took in Will's familiar, but long unseen, grin – the one where he bit his lower lip with his teeth. Ten excruciatingly long years she had waited for the pair of them to bond, and yet she never once considered that it would come at her expense. Had she known that just two days ago would be the last time their son would allow her to help him get ready in the morning perhaps she would have savored the moment a bit more, but the truth was her son was getting older and he was absolutely correct in saying he _needed _his father. He perhaps needed him more than Elizabeth did. _That _was going to require some adjustments on her part.

"But of course! I would never dream of intruding on matters better left to the men folk," she apologized as she turned to leave the room, closing the door behind her and smiling to herself as she left the two most important people in her life to their own devices. 


	13. Some Time Alone Almost

Evan picked up the last fragment of the broken pitcher, dropped it into the basin and stood up. He turned around just as Elizabeth reappeared in the doorway. He cocked his head to one side and appraised her curious expression. There was a smile on her face – faint, but still discernable, but there was the faintest blush of disappointment in her eyes. Even more curious than her expression was the fact that she was now alone.

"And where might the Williams Turner be?" he asked as he tucked the basin under one arm and stepped through the door.

"It would seem as if my position in my son's life has been usurped by his father," she responded with an amused smirk.

"I was afraid that might happen."

"I just didn't think it would happen so fast," she sighed.

"Will…_William_ is a very fortunate little boy. More so than I realized." Evan felt a small twinge of rarely experienced jealously over William's good fortune. Evan couldn't remember his own mother, much less his father. For all he knew, even his mother hadn't known exactly who had fathered her child. All he knew is what he had been told and none of it was good. He only had the vaguest memories of anything other than life aboard a ship until his own run in with Davy Jones and the _Flying Dutchman._ The irony that he had nearly lost his life to one of the ship's captains and then have his place in the world secured, indirectly at least, by the other was not lost on him. One day, perhaps, Evan would bring himself to tell Elizabeth's husband of their tenuous connection, but not today. Today belonged to Elizabeth.

"Yes." Elizabeth's smile grew. "Yes, he is." She looked back down the hallway at the closed door to the room she had just left. "As am I."

"I'll take this down and dispose of it," Evan said nodding towards the basin under his arm. "Would you like me to have Mrs. Lansford prepare some breakfast for you and the Captain?"

"Will. You can call him Will."

Evan nodded. _But I don't think I can bring myself to do that._

"And breakfast would be lovely, but come back up to get William. I can only imagine what Mr. Tolliver would say if I brought him down in my dressing gown." She paused for a moment as if something funny crossed her mind. "And I don't think either Will or Mr. Tolliver are quite up to meeting each other yet." She didn't say anything else about that possibility, but the twinkle in her eye betrayed her amusement at the thought.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with a small chuckle clearly having read Elizabeth's thoughts.

As Evan headed downstairs, Elizabeth stood in the hallway hugging herself and waited for her husband and son to complete their little tete a tete or whatever they were doing. She considered the number of times she had been told that a boy needs a father and yet no one had ever stopped to acknowledge how much, as a mother, she needed her child – not that she begrudged Will one second with their son, but it was going to take some adjustment on her part. She just had mistakenly believed that it would take longer for the pair of them to bond; that the transition would be gradual; that she would possibly have another child to think about before William got to the point where he needed his father more than he needed her. On the other hand, it did render one of her earlier concerns totally unfounded and pointless. They had obviously accepted each other – and quite readily at that.

The door to William's room opened and father and son stepped out into the hall, hand in hand. Much to Elizabeth's relief, William was dressed appropriately for his lessons. It had belatedly occurred to her that Will had no clue as to what his son wore on a daily basis. An amused look formed on her face as she noticed the damp ringlets of dark brown hair framing each of their faces – obviously the result of their both having washed. The effect on William with his neatly combed hair and crisp, clean clothes was adorable, but his father's still sleep tangled hair and less than pristine attire gave him the overall air of some type of refugee rather than upstanding member of society. Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle as the pair approached.

Will narrowed his eyes at his wife at her reaction, but it did nothing to mar the look of pride glowing on his face. He had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was here, he could hardly contain his own joy. He gaze began to drift from his wife to his son before being drawn to the stairwell by the high pitched squeak coming from that direction.

Evan stopped as soon as Will looked in his direction still three or four steps from the upper landing. He wondered if this would be the last day he would ever be in charge of delivering William to his tutor. From the day the boy had come into this world, Evan had been practically the only responsible adult male in his life. While he had never filled the bill as surrogate father, he had quite enjoyed being a substitute older brother. If Will had usurped Elizabeth's position in the boy's life, then what hope was there for him? He had never expected such a revelation and most certainly never anticipated its associated hurt.

"He's mad already, isn't he?" William addressed Evan, his general demeanor showing he already knew what the answer would be.

Evan wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste for the boy's tutor. "Would you expect anything else given the circumstances? At least Mercedes is trying to placate him with tea and cakes."

Will looked up at his father. "See? I told you no one likes him," he pointed out, clearly feeling vindicated.

"So it would seem."

"Does this mean I don't have to go?" William added hopefully.

Will crouched down to eye level with his son. "I'm afraid it's not that easy to get out of your lessons. Trust me, I think I tried everything and it never worked."

"WILL! Don't give him any ideas." Elizabeth gave her husband a horrified look when he turned his face up towards hers. It was quickly apparent to her from the twinkle in his eyes that he had no intention of ever letting their son skip out on his lessons.

"See? I told you your mother would make you go" Will said to his son as he turned back towards him.

William heaved an overly dramatic sigh and then hugged his father. Will put one hand on the back of William's hair and kissed his temple. "You'll do fine, if he gives you too much trouble just come find me. I'll take care of him for you." Will put one hand on each of William's shoulders and pushed him away just far enough to make one final survey of his clothing. Finding everything satisfactory as far as he knew he stood up and directed Will towards Evan.

William was not ready to be dismissed quite yet. He tilted his head back to look up at Will as he took his hand again. "Will you be here to have lunch with me, still?"

Will put a hand on top of William's head. "Of course, I promised, didn't I?" His voiced reflected his own anticipation of the event.

"Speaking of meals," Elizabeth interrupted the pair to speak to Evan, "do _not _allow Mr. Tolliver to deny William any breakfast. That would just be the kind of punishment he would resort to and it's not William's fault he's late."

"Yes, ma'am." Evan nodded in agreement as he continued to wait patiently for the boy.

"I think it's time you go, young man," Elizabeth said to William.

William sighed again as he reluctantly released Will's hand. "I love you, papa."

Will grinned as he bent over and kissed his son's forehead. "I love you, too."

"And what about me? Did everyone forget about me?" Elizabeth said laughingly.

"I love you too, mama, but I get to tell you all the time."

"Oh. That makes being ignored feel ever so much better." This time she tried to make herself sound sad, but failed miserably.

Evan watched the Turners and their son as Mercedes words echoed through his mind. "_That is no ordinary man up there."_ He was sure she hadn't meant in the way Will Turner treated his child, but she was entirely correct on that count in her summation about his not being ordinary.

William took a deep breath and headed down the steps, skipping over the squeaky fifth one and then stopped to wait for Evan on the sixth.

"Will there be anything else, ma'am?" Evan asked.

Elizabeth thought for a moment before answering. "Yes, could you have Mercedes heat water for a bath? I think Will and I shall both be having one today."

Evan nodded in acknowledgement. "Done. I had Mercedes start heating the water when I arrived this morning. She's also washing bed linens today. I stayed at the other house the past two nights so she has those to do too."

"I should have known you would be that efficient and I can _hardly_ imagine Mercedes reaction to extra chores today," Elizabeth sighed. She also noted that Evan's eyes seemed to indicate that there was something more he wanted to tell her.

Evan shrugged. "She has had a bit of a rough morning, but I think she'll survive.

"I didn't scare her too badly, did I?" Will almost sounded guilty.

"She was a bit shaken up, but I should have warned her. It's my fault. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I knew you were coming back, but I just didn't think." Evan tried his best to make good on his promise to Mercedes to accept any responsibility for the morning's events.

"It's no one's fault," interjected Elizabeth. "Now get William to class before Mr. Tolliver suffers a fit of apoplexy."

"Yes, ma'am," Evan and William answered simultaneously with a giggle, the mere thought of Mr. Tolliver turning beet red and sputtering uncontrollably amusing them this morning.

Elizabeth returned to the bedroom while Will watched their son out of sight. As he had hoped, the boy cast one last smile upstairs towards his father before he went into the study to face the wrath of his tutor. Will then turned and followed his wife into their room. Elizabeth was busy doing something behind a large screen blocking off one corner of their room. Will went over and peered around the edge to find her rummaging through a large chest pushed up against one wall. This being the first time he had paid much attention to the space, he gave it a quick once over. Next to the chest was a large armoire for Elizabeth's clothes. There was door he had not noticed before along the wall that should have been shared with one of the bedrooms off the hallway. There was a chair pushed up against it that gave it the impression of being long unused.

"Will, this is my _dressing_ area."

"I noticed. Where does the door lead?"

Elizabeth turned her head towards the door as if she had completely forgotten its existence. "It's a room I haven't had need for. And will you kindly leave me so I can get dressed?"

"Why haven't you had a need for it? And considering the number of times I've undressed you don't you think it's a bit silly to run me off while you dress?" His voice low and seductive.

Elizabeth looked him straight in the eye as she spoke. "It's a nursery." Her eyes flicked back towards the door before returning to Will. "And as for the other, it's just an old habit that I've never had any reason to break. If you want me to I'll try."

"Mmm," Will responded noncommittally as he gazed at the blocked door. Its purpose now taking on new meaning for him.

"Will? Is something the matter?" Elizabeth sounded concerned.

Will blinked several times as he came back to this time and place. "What? No. I mean yes. I don't have any other clothes." He looked down at the well worn tunic and breeches he wore.

"That problem is easily remedied. I've made arrangements for a tailor to come this afternoon. We….or you, rather, just need to decide what kind of clothing you need. I have no idea what, if anything, you want to do now that you're home." Elizabeth stood up, slammed the trunk shut, walked over to Will and kissed him. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your bath."

Will wrapped his arms around his wife, pinning her arms to her side, preventing her from leaving. "What are my chances of having you scrub my back?" He kissed her forehead to punctuate his request.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in feigned shock. "I'm not sure if that would be proper, Mr. Turner." She pushed a stray lock of his hair behind his ear. "But I'm sure we could negotiate some reasonable compromise."

Will tenderly kissed her lips as he let his hands slide downward to rest on his wife's bottom. "I could offer you an equal trade – I'll scrub your back for you."

"That is certainly a generous offer, sir. I may have to take it under consideration." Elizabeth kissed Will back as she struggled to free her arms.

Will released her and took one of her hands in his. "Then perhaps we should take our negotiations elsewhere?" he asked hopefully.

Elizabeth pulled away for just long enough to gather her change of clothes in one arm. She folded her hand into Will's and led him from the room and down the stairs. Will hesitated at the foot of the stairs at the sound of the angry, but muffled voice coming from what he now knew was the study. He shot Elizabeth a concerned look as he tried to pull away from her to head for the door.

"Don't," she commanded as she tugged back at his hand. "He's just blowing off steam. William can handle it; he's made of strong stuff. Besides, if you go in there now it will just make it worse."

Will's forehead creased in consternation. "How could _I _make it worse? He's yelling at our son."

Elizabeth exhaled sharply. "You'll just have to trust me right now. You _will _have your chance to express your concerns. But right now...you would just be fueling his fire."

Will continued to stare at the door as Elizabeth tugged insistently on his hand. He knew he should trust her – she had far more experience being a parent than he did, than he _ever _would, but he wasn't finding it very easy to allow someone else to berate his son.

"Will? Please?"

Will relented to his wife's request and continued to follow her, but he did not let go of his irritation at the as yet unmet tutor. They continued down the hallway to the dining room. There, on the table, was a neatly arranged tray of fresh fruits, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, pots of marmalade, butter, and honey and a teapot with two cups. Elizabeth released Will's hand, grabbed a strawberry and bit into it – the dark red juice dribbling down her chin. "Could you get that?" she asked, gesturing towards the tray with her head.

Will didn't speak, but instead lightly wiped one thumb across her chin. He then licked the juice off his own thumb. "I've always liked strawberries. I can't remember the last time I had one," he said softly as he moved his head towards hers.

"I meant get the tray and I'm sure there are enough strawberries to share," Elizabeth replied playfully as she popped the other half of the strawberry in her mouth.

"But I wanted to taste _that _one." His parted lips met her eagerly receptive mouth.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips still parted as she pulled herself away and lightly shook her head as if to return herself to reality. She smiled softly and nodded towards the tray again. "Follow me."

The bright morning sun caused Will to blink several times as he stepped outside. It was a beautiful day, even if they had missed most of the morning already. The sky was the same brilliant blue as the sea. There was a smattering of puffy white clouds drifting high above. It was the perfect day to do nothing and yet, never in Will's life had he actually done that. It still felt strange to him to no longer have the responsibility of the _Dutchman _and its noble purpose. All that aside, he also felt that he could learn to enjoy a life of relative leisure – one where all of his choices were his own. As to what he would choose was not now, nor ever had been in doubt. What he wanted more than anything was the responsibility of a family – a family that he was now free to enjoy and be a part of.

"Are you daydreaming?" Elizabeth teased as put her hand on Will's cheek and turned his face towards her.

"Yes." He grinned, but offered no explanation. He realized they were now standing outside of a long, low building. He could see several large vats through the open door. A tangible steamy heat flowed towards them. "Is _this _it?" Obviously, what Will saw did not meet his expectations.

"No, that's where we, or rather Mercedes, does the laundry. It's through there." Elizabeth gestured towards a small door about half way back and on the left.

"I was getting concerned there for a moment."

Elizabeth shot him an annoyed look as she led the way to the door and opened it. What was on the other side was quite different from the laundry. The large, airy room featured a screened dressing area to the back, a large cupboard – presumably stocked with towels, soap and other necessities, and an oversized tub dead center of the room. The immaculate tile covering the floor felt cool to the touch – just the thing on a hot and humid summer day. Daylight spilled in from the windows just below the ceiling. Today the windows were propped open to allow the cool outside air in while letting the steam out. And there was plenty of steam. It was gently wafting up from the tub which had been recently filled.

"This is much nicer than Sao Feng's," Will commented. "Probably safer too." He set the tray down on a table near the door.

"No doubt. But that's where I got the idea. Or at least what I could remember of it. I was a bit distracted." Elizabeth closed to door behind them and threw the bar into place.

"As was I," Will added matter of factly.

"I suppose someone threatening to kill you would be distracting." The memory caused Elizabeth some distress.

"Not that. I was mesmerized at the sight of your bare legs." Will stepped up behind her and ran one hand down her side to her hip. "It was the first time I had seen them."

"As did everyone else," she curtly pointed out.

"I know. That made me terribly jealous." He lifted her silky blond hair and kissed her neck.

Elizabeth inhaled deeply and leaned back into Will. "Now you're distracting me," she whispered.

"Are you complaining?" He wrapped his other arm around her waist and rested his open hand on her stomach. The line of kisses expanded to include her now bare shoulder.

Elizabeth whimpered softly as she tilted her head to one side.

Will's other hand moved to her stomach and began to untie the belt of her dressing gown.

Elizabeth covered his hands with hers, preventing him from going any further. "Mr. Turner, _this _is most assuredly not part of the negotiations." She reluctantly pulled her head back upright. "At least not until you've reacquainted yourself with soap and hot water. Now, go!" She raised one hand and pointed towards the tub.

"Will you join me?" Will was not disposed to redirecting his efforts.

"No," Elizabeth answered after a split second delay – just long enough for Will to know she had considered his proposal. "Now, in the tub before I have to threaten you like I do your son."

Will gave an over exaggerated sigh and gave her one more quick kiss on the shoulder before releasing her and going to the tub. He dragged his fingers through the water, taking in its warmth and the fact that it was both clean and free of salt. He would enjoy this even if he couldn't talk his wife into joining him. He undressed quickly and stepping into the water as he glanced back towards Elizabeth. She had disappeared behind the dressing screen, presumably to put her change of clothes there. Will slid further into the water, allowing the back of his head to rest again the back edge of the tub while his arms dangled loosely over the sides. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. _Was it only yesterday that I was truly set free? _He could hear Elizabeth rustling around the room, opening cabinets, moving things around and humming intermittently to herself. It was a drastic change from the sounds he was accustomed to at sea, but these were the sounds of _home_. Sounds he had waited too long to hear.

Elizabeth dragged a small stool over and set it behind Will. "Here," she said, offering him a thick slice of the bread slathered with butter and honey. "If you're good, I may even share these with you," she added as she popped another strawberry in her mouth.

Will gratefully accepted the bread and took a huge bite. He chewed slowly, savoring every nuance of its taste, texture and smell. "I almost forgot what it was like to eat."

"What?" Elizabeth's voice was clipped and confused.

"We didn't need to eat, we didn't need to drink, we didn't need to sleep, we didn't need to do anything other than take care of the ship, and unless we chose to do so, we didn't. They're just more things I have to readjust to doing." Water splashed over the side as he shrugged his shoulders, as if it was an everyday occurrence that someone returned from the land of the dead.

"I didn't realize."

"I know. And I don't really feel like talking about it now, but eventuall…eventually I'm sure I will want to tell you and William what it was like." He stuffed the last chunk of bread in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "But right now, I want to just be with you," he said with his mouth full. "And William."

"You won't find any arguments there." Elizabeth commented as she tossed a chunk of soap into the bath water.

"What about our deal?" Will lay his head back and grinned at his wife.

"I don't recall coming to any sort of an accord on that, but I suppose I can wash your back for you." She sat down on the stool. "And since it's a special occasion I might as well wash your hair for you too – it's a mess right now." She ran her fingers through the mass of dark curls. "Now wet it for me."

Will allowed himself to slide completely beneath the water. Elizabeth blanched at the sight – he looked uncannily like the drowned souls they had seen while in the locker. She then noticed him blink his eyes shut and exhale suddenly as he quickly popped to the surface, grabbing frantically for the sides of the tub, spraying up enough water to sufficiently drench Elizabeth's clothing. "Will Turner!" she cried out as she leapt to her feet and began brushing at her now dripping dressing gown. "What are you…" She stopped suddenly as she noticed Will drop his head forward and begin to cough uncontrollably. "Will?" she asked tentatively. "Are you all right?"

Will nodded his head as he continued to cough for a moment. "Yes," he managed to choke out. "I can't do it any more."

"Can't do _what _anymore?"

"Breathe." He slid back towards her and leaned against the back of the tub again. "Underwater."

Elizabeth quietly considered his revelation before speaking. "Am I correct in assuming that this is a _good _thing?"

Will nodded again, grinned and handed her the soap.

Elizabeth accepted the bar of soap, settled back on the damp stool, spread her dripping skirts around her and began to lather Will's shock of dark brown curls.

"Why doesn't William go to the town school?" Will leaned back and sighed happily at Elizabeth's attention.

"It was just easier to have him stay home. I did send him there at first, but whenever the question came up as to where his father was, he insisted on telling the truth." Elizabeth deftly undid some of the larger tangles in Will's hair and wondered if he had even seen a brush or a comb in the past ten years.

"I can imagine that wouldn't go over very well with young boys, would it?" Will winced as Elizabeth pulled a bit too hard on his hair.

"No, it didn't. He got in several scrapes those first few weeks. Since he was already ahead of the other children his own age, the teacher suggested he receive private tutoring." Elizabeth added more soap.

"And now we have Mr.?" Will groaned as Elizabeth began to massage his scalp.

"Tolliver. Yes. But I think part of the reason was that they didn't know what to do with William at the town school. He's very bright and learned so much those years we were still on the run. He already knew what the other children his age were learning and didn't want to do it again. He's not a patient child."

Will giggled. "I wonder who he gets that from?"

Elizabeth smiled at the memory of learning that her fearless husband giggled much like a small child when he was amused. As far as she knew, no one knew it but her and she wanted to keep it that way. It was one of those little traits that he could share with her and with her alone. "_You_ should know better than anyone how patient I can be when it really matters," she whispered.

Will reached one damp hand back and ran it along Elizabeth's forearm. "I know. Trust me, I know. And I will _never_ forget it. I promise you that."

"I intend to keep you to that promise." She dragged her fingers through his hair, stood up and looked around. She spied what she was looking for almost immediately – a small pitcher sitting on the floor beside the tub. She carefully picked it up and filled it from the tub. "Lean back over the edge, so I can rinse the soap out." Elizabeth bit her lower lip as Will sat up and leaned back in compliance with her request. Seeing the soapy water sheet off of his chest was wreaking havoc on her concentration. There were still times when she was taken aback by how beautiful he was. How was it possible that the scrawny, awkward boy she had fallen in love with had turned into graceful, finely muscled man that she married? She took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the more amorous inclinations she was suddenly experiencing - the fact that he was wet, naked and, for all practical purposes, at her mercy didn't help matters.

"Is something wrong?" Will asked. The impish grin on his face implied that he knew exactly what Elizabeth was thinking.

"Of course not," she squeaked. Even she knew she didn't sound overly convincing.

"There's room enough for two, if you'd like to join me."

Elizabeth upended the pitcher over his head in response, then scooped up more water to repeat the process.

Will sputtered and shook his head like a dog as the water sluiced over his face. "If you won't join me, can I at least have a kiss from my wife?"

Elizabeth regarded him suspiciously before putting one hand on either side of the tub and leaning in to grant his request.

Will caressed her neck with one hand while reaching for her waist with the other. He kissed her slowly and gently at first, then forged ahead to something a bit more passionate. Elizabeth followed willingly – concentrating on nothing but his mouth.

_SPLASH!_

Water surged over the sides of the tub as Will pulled Elizabeth into the tub with him. Elizabeth squealed in protest, but didn't put up a fight.

"Will Turner! You're incorrigible!" Elizabeth tried to pull herself up.

"Encouragable? Why yes, I am and I blame you for all of it." Will kept his arm locked tightly around her waist so she couldn't move very far.

"That's not what I said." She retorted and gave up her struggle.

"But it's what I meant." Will ran his damp fingers through her hair. "I did offer to scrub your back for you." He batted his eyes innocently.

"This isn't what I had in mind."

"I can assure you that what I have in mind is far more interesting." He untied the belt of her ruined dressing gown and pushed the sodden garment off of her shoulders.

Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed at the touch of his fingers on her skin. There was no point in arguing with him, he knew her well enough to know how his advances would be received. He had never been wrong on that count. Today was no different.

Will smoothed soap slicked hands down her flanks, to her hips and onward to her thighs. Elizabeth arched back her head and shoulders and sucked in a breath between her teeth as he lifted her gently and settled her over his hips. Elizabeth then dropped her head forward and rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I love you, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth only managed a slight nod of her head in response as she was already long past conversation.

Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes. She was curled up close to Will, her head resting on his chest, the fingers of one hand intertwined with his, resting in front of her face. Will's other arm was wrapped securely around her while he grazed his fingertips gently over her bare arm. She raised her head just enough to allow herself to kiss the underside of Will's chin. She could tell by the way his muscles moved that he was smiling as he redirected his fingers to play with her wet hair. He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers.

"I think I'm starting to prune," Will said as he lifted his fingers from Elizabeth's hair and examined the tips.

"_That _has to undoubtedly be the _least_ romantic thing you've ever said." She took the opportunity to push herself upright.

Will laughed. "I'll try to do better next time, but for now, I think it means we've been in here too long." He released her hand as he too pushed himself upright.

The recently reunited lovers helped each other from the rapidly cooling bath water, toweled off quickly and redressed – Will in the same clothes he had been wearing for days and Elizabeth in a simple, but elegant ensemble. It was well made, but nowhere near as opulent as the clothing she had worn as a young girl.

Elizabeth retrieved a comb, a brush and two lengths of dark colored ribbon from the dressing area. She returned to Will, pushed him into a nearby chair and began to comb through the sleek brown waves of his hair. When she finished, she gathered it into a neat queue and tied it with one length of the ribbon. "When we're at sea you can have the bandana back, but here…..here I think the less attention you attract then the better. Besides, I've always liked it like this." She kissed the top of his head when she finished speaking.

"That's probably a good plan. It just means I have to wash my hair more than once a decade now," he said jokingly as Elizabeth thumped him on the head with the comb. "Does this mean I get to comb your hair now?" He inclined his head to look her in the face.

"Yes, but we're going outside."

Will followed Elizabeth out of the building containing the bath house and the laundry to the haphazard garden in the side yard. Will surveyed the area with a look of bemused disappointment on his face. Even he could grow a garden better than this one. Elizabeth gave him a look that clearly warned him not to comment as she motioned for him to sit on the bench. She ungracefully plopped down in the grass in front of him and then incongruously arranged her skirt in the daintiest manner imaginable.

Will rolled his eyes as he took the comb and began to work it through her long, blonde hair. He lifted the honey colored mass off of her neck and marveled at the weight of it. He understood now why she normally wore it up. He wondered if she had worn it down the day he came home because she knew that's how he liked it best. He kissed the top of her head as she had done to him as she reached up to hand him the brush.

An angry raised voice from the study caused Will to flinch. Elizabeth cried out and winced at the sudden, unexpected tug on her hair. Will stared with narrowed eyes at the doors that led from the outside in to the study. He knew William was in there and he knew that wasn't his son's voice.

"Elizabeth?" Will sounded hesitant. He wasn't quite sure what to say or what to ask.

"It's Mr. Tolliver again. It's all right. William can handle him," she said with a sigh. She didn't sound happy or convinced either.

"He's yelling at our son - still?"

"Yes." She turned her head towards the doors too. "He does that quite often."

"And you _allow _it?" Will pulled the brush the rest of the way through her hair.

"Not so much allow as tolerate. He's the best tutor in Port Royal, but he's very opinionated and somewhat short tempered. Your son inherited your ability to push people to their limits. Sometimes I think he delights in seeing how far he can push before dear Mr. Tolliver loses control."

"So what you're saying is that it's all sound and no fury"

"For the most part. Sometimes I have to set him straight, but it's usually when he's offering unsolicited advice on my parenting skills or my need for a husband. He believes you to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination."

"I can take care of _that_ right now." Will started to stand up.

Elizabeth laughed yet again at the image of Will confronting Mr. Tolliver. "I don't think we need to rush things. He'll learn the error of his ways soon enough. In the meantime, just ignore him."

"If you think that's best, I'll try, but I won't promise that I can." Will began to brush her hair again. It was finally beginning to dry – stray threads of gold floated about her head.

Elizabeth sighed happily as she closed her eyes and leaned back into the brush strokes. "I could get used to this."

"Eliza- Mrs. Turner, Captain Turner?" Evan's voice interrupted their private moment.

Elizabeth's eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright. "Evan! You startled me. And why in heaven's name are you calling me _Mrs. Turner _today?" She noticed that her ward looked concerned and nervous. Something was weighing on his mind to be sure, but he almost looked embarrassed to have interrupted her and Will.

Evan smiled faintly as he continued. "Mrs. Turner, I'm afraid that Mr. Davidson is here to see you. He says it's quite urgent. I tried to tell him that you weren't accepting visitors today, but he was most insistent."

"Who's Mr. Davidson?" Will was beginning to think he would never learn the names of all the people who regularly came in and out of the Turner family's daily life.

"He runs the offices for the shipping company on a daily basis so I don't really have to," Elizabeth said to Will before turning her attention back to Evan. "Did you remind him that I was planning to come in to check the manifests _tomorrow_?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I gathered from a comment he made that the matter at hand has nothing to do with the _Aztec Gold_, but perhaps one of the other ships. I'm sorry, but I don't know which one."

Elizabeth groaned in frustration as she got back to her feet and dusted herself off. She removed the other piece of ribbon from her pocket, took the brush from Will, sectioned out a length of hair, and tied it securely with the ribbon. "I suppose duty calls," she commented as she handed the brush back to Will. "Would you return these to where they belong? I promise I'll be back as soon as I can." She kissed him quickly before heading back inside the house.

Evan turned to follow her, not really knowing what else to do.

"Evan?"

"Yes, Captain Turner?" Evan turned back around.

"Would you be so kind as to do me two favors?" Will tried to make himself sound as casual as possible.

"Yes sir, Captain Turner, of course. Just name them."

Will smiled at the young man. "First, I'm Will. Just plain Will, nothing else. Not Captain Turner. Not Mr. Turner. Not William. Just Will."

"Yes sir, Capt…Will. And your other request?"

"It's seems as if I have no idea where anything is in my own home. Do you think you could give me a tour since Elizabeth is otherwise occupied at the moment?"

Evan beamed. "Of course, but might I suggest you find some shoes?"

Will looked down at his feet as if just now noticing he wasn't wearing any shoes. "Remind me to ask Elizabeth about getting some new ones," he said laughingly. "In the meantime, I'll just wear my boots. I'll be back shortly." Will picked up the comb he had left on the bench and headed back towards the house. _And while I'm inside, maybe I'll check in on William and see this Mr. Tolliver for myself.._


	14. Just Another Normal Day

Elizabeth paused outside the door to the study. She chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated the closed door and the people inside. Mr. Tolliver was still addressing William in his usual derogatory, demeaning, and degrading tone. As always, his voice was raised above the normal level one would expect for the proximity of his audience. It didn't matter that she had told Will, truthfully so, that their son was pretty much immune to the man's rants. Will was right; there was no reason for anyone to endure such treatment when they didn't deserve it. Why had she let it continue for so long? Had she been so intently focused on Will's return that she hadn't been paying as much attention to their son as she should have? Or was it that William was so much like his father that he just did what he had to without complaint no matter what the circumstances?

She hadn't given much thought to Mr. Tolliver since their rather heated discussion earlier in the week, but now…William's tutor was only contracted for two more weeks of lessons before summer began. For the first three summers they have lived in Port Royal Elizabeth William had been subjected to summer lessons also. What could it hurt to give him a break? Part of the reason he had a private tutor to begin with was that he was far and away more academically inclined than the vast majority of his peers. Adding the incredible number of things he had learned and been exposed to during his first six years of life simply compounded the futility of sending him to the town school. Was there anything Mr. Tolliver could teach him in three months that would be more beneficial than anything he could learn from his parents? Despite Will's earlier claim to have not liked school he had been an excellent student – he just hadn't always been interested in what the teacher had to offer. His natural curiosity about his surroundings had motivated him to learn things above and beyond what Mr. Brown could teach him about smithing. He read anything and everything he could get his hands on. Surely the wealth of information Will had acquired while he was away was more than enough to keep on nine-year-old boy occupied for three short months. Besides, what the pair of them needed more than anything was time –_together. _What they did during that time was secondary to everything.

Elizabeth looked towards the door to the office where Mr. Davidson was waiting and then looked back at the study door. There was no real need to check in on William, but just the fact that she _could_ made her want to. The knowledge that the interruption would annoy Mr. Tolliver made it all the more tempting. Elizabeth smirked as she opened the door authoritatively.

"Good day, Mr. Tolliver. I trust William's lessons are progressing nicely?"

Ivan Tolliver spun around from the near side of the desk to face her, looking down his narrow hawk-like nose in irritation. William, seated on the opposite side, looked up from his book and peered quizzically at his mother. Elizabeth acted like her intrusion was an everyday occurrence.

"Well?" Elizabeth scanned back and forth between them waiting for an answer.

"Yes, mother," William answered hesitantly – not sure what to expect after his mother's last encounter with the tutor. Was she actually trying to bait him into another argument? There was now quite certainly tangible proof that Mr. Tolliver's claims about William's questionable parentage and absentee father no longer held water, but it wasn't like her to just walk in on his lessons like _this_ –even for news like _that_.

"And what might you be learning about today?" Her voice was cheerful and bright.

"Greek mythology," he said slowly as he leaned slightly to his left to peer around his mother into the hallway. Mr. Tolliver scowled as he followed William's gaze.

"Outside," Elizabeth mouthed to her son where Mr. Tolliver couldn't see her. William smiled faintly and returned to his reading. Elizabeth turned back to face the tutor, struggling to keep a straight face at his perplexed expression. "Mr. Tolliver, I assume you shall be joining our family for lunch?" She cast a furtive glance towards William who kept his head down, but smiled all the same. He understood what she was up to now. "If you prefer you can always pop over to the Flash of Green. Just tell them the Turners sent you." William stifled a small laugh by pretending to cough.

Mr. Tolliver blinked once, glared at William, who still had his nose buried in his book, and then looked suspiciously at Elizabeth. He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger for a moment before speaking. "Why yes, of course, luncheon would be fine. I find I have a few things about the boy's education that I need to discuss with you."

Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Very well, I shall instruct our cook to set an extra place at the table." She turned to sashay out of the door, then stopped. "And I find I have some things that need to be discussed with _you_ also," she added almost as an after thought. She continued on her way back into the hallway and closed door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Will crossed the side yard on the way to the house. Brigand, the family dog, lay sprawled across the breezeway between the doors leading into the house and the kitchen. As Will approached the dog made a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine and rolled over on his back. Will stood with his hands on his hips, Elizabeth's brush still in hand, his head cocked to one side as he regarded the massive canine.

"He wants you to scratch his belly," Evan explained.

"And then chew off an arm? I don't think so." Will was skeptical of Evan's appraisal of the situation.

Brigand whined some more and began to wag his tail, making an audible thump each time it bounced off of one of the flagstones.

"Trust me. That dog wouldn't hurt anyone. He's all bark, no bite. Although I think that would change in an instant if someone threatened William."

Will glanced at Evan before kneeling down and tentatively rubbing the dog's soft, coal black fur. Brigand thumped his tail harder and made the doggy equivalent of a contented sigh. Will sat down on the ground beside the dog and began to scratch his belly as Evan had suggested. Brigand squirmed and wriggled himself into a position that allowed him to rest his massive skull on Will's foot. Will refocused his attention on a spot just behind the dog's ears.

"Now you've done it. He'll follow you everywhere whether you want him to or not."

Will laughed lightly. "Do you mean I've stolen my own son's dog? I've never had a pet before, but that doesn't sound like the best place to start."

"Just don't let him around any undead monkeys. He doesn't like them so much. He loves nothing more than to catch Jack and shake him like a rag doll."

"I know _that_ feeling quite well," Will said with a smirk.

"Why do I have the feeling you're not just talking about cursed primates?"

Will didn't look up, but Evan could see the grin form on his face. He didn't know all the details of Will's association with Jack, but he had heard tales. If their relationship was anything like the one between Jack and Elizabeth then it was shaky on even the best of occasions. To say that they didn't always see eye to eye was a classic understatement. Elizabeth and Jack worked together well when they had to, but they frequently butted heads. Evan saw no reason to believe Jack and Will together would prove any different.

"MR. ROSS! I need your assistance immediately!" demanded a voice from the kitchen.

Evan virtually snapped to attention. Will narrowed his eyes while searching for some long ago memory. He had known someone was in the kitchen, he could hear them moving around, but he has assumed it was the girl he had seen earlier that morning. _What was her name? Mercedes, that's it. _But the female voice demanding Evan's presence has a distinctly Irish lilt to it and Mercedes had a moderately thick Spanish accent. And yet, the voice was familiar…

"MR. ROSS! I mean now!"

Will hopped to his feet and stood stock still with his head tilted to one side desperately trying to recall who the voice belonged to. He handed the brush Elizabeth had given him earlier to Evan and then held up the same hand to ward him off as he stepped through the doorway to the kitchen. The woman standing in front of the fire, with her back to him, stirring a large caldron of some kind of soup or stew, looked familiar, although older and with more gray hair. She might have been a bit plumper than he remembered, but he had no doubt she was who he thought. Will slowly approached her from behind halfway afraid that he was mistaken about her identity. He had thought her elderly when he was a boy, but perhaps that had just been his childish perception.

"Miss Mary?" he asked softly, uncertainly.

Mary Lansford froze with her soup ladle, dripping thick, brown gravy, hovered over the cast iron cauldron. His voice was deeper, perhaps even faintly raspier than before, but there was no doubt in her mind who stood behind her. Pride and joy squeezed at her heart. She hadn't expected to be this overwhelmed at his return, but there was no denying that she was. When she had taken the position with the family she had assumed, like most everyone else, that Will Turner had passed on. It was her own sense of loyalty to the shipwrecked orphan grown to a good man that had moved her heart and soul in such a way that she felt obligated to care for the tiny family he had left behind. It wasn't until several months into her self-appointed mission that she began to believe there was something more to his absence – that he wasn't deceased, just missing. Then again, perhaps _missing_ wasn't quite right either. As strange as it sounded it was more like he just wasn't_ physically_ present.

"Miss Mary?" Will asked a little louder, this time with less uncertainty. "Is that you?"

Mrs. Lansford almost imperceptibly nodded her gray head as she slowly turned around. Happy tears shone in her eyes, but did not fall. The forgotten ladle, still in her hand, dripped viscous liquid onto the tiles - much to Brigand's delight. She would have recognized him anywhere. He still looked far younger than he was, but he presented a far more rugged and imposing figure than he she remembered. Where ever he had been and whatever he had been doing had been kind to him physically – emotionally and mentally were still in question.

A shy smile started on Will's face, but quickly spread into a full-fledged grin as he crossed the distance between them and enveloped the older woman in an ecstatic hug. "I never thought I would see you again!" Will blurted out.

"William Turner, let go of me, you've been petting that filthy dog! Have you forgotten _all _of your manners?" Mrs. Lansford's complaints fell on deaf ears, as she had expected – as she had hoped. She had mothered Will for years – when Mrs. Brown had not been able to; when Mr. Brown no longer cared for anyone, not even himself; when Will had nowhere else to turn; when he was ill; when he wanted nothing more than some semblance of a family in his otherwise solitary life. In turn, he had filled a need she had to still feel useful after her own children were grown and gone.

"Why are you here?" Will asked as he finally loosened his grip on the family's cook and housekeeper.

"I could very well ask you the same, but since I know the answer to that, I won't. But to answer your question – someone had to take care of the girl. She has her hands full with that boy of yours." Her words may have sounded somewhat harsh, but her voice gave her away. She was obviously quite fond of her charges and perhaps more than a little protective even. She pulled herself away from Will and hung the still dripping ladle on a hook by the fire.

"What are you cooking? It smells wonderful." Will rose up on his toes to peek around her at the stew bubbling in the cauldron.

Mrs. Lansford laughed, turned back towards Will and grasped his chin between her thumb and forefinger. "If I had any doubts beforehand that he was yours, they're gone now," she said with mock sarcasm. She continued to hold his chin as she studied his face intently - trying to find the boy he had been in the man he had become. She smiled as she found what she was looking for buried just beneath the surface, but plainly evident in his soulful brown eyes.

"I'm afraid you may know him better than I do." Will looked up as he spoke, trying to hide the regret in his eyes.

"Time," she said consolingly. "Time and patience. Everything will be right as rain in no time. Trust me on that," she added as she patted his cheek. "Now move that to the table for me," she ordered gesturing towards the steaming cauldron.

"Yes, ma'am. But you still didn't tell me what it is." Will sniffed it appreciatively as he picked up a discarded towel and wrapped it around the handle.

"Yes, ma'am? Listen to him. Gone off doing who knows what for years and he still remembers his manners." Mrs. Lansford rolled her eyes at him. "And it's lamb stew. If my memory hasn't failed me somebody I know had a taste for it." She picked up a wooden spoon from the table.

Will bit his lower lip and grinned at her as he hefted the heavy pot onto the table. He unwrapped the towel from the handle, tossed it on the table, then leaned over and kissed Mrs. Lansford on the cheek. "Thank you."

"For cooking? It's my job," she said tartly.

Will looking longingly at the pot of stew and unconsciously licked his lips as he realized how hungry he was. What little breakfast he had eaten had been a while ago and since then... "For that too, I knew all along that Elizabeth didn't know the difference between baking and burning, but that's not what I meant," he said seriously.

Mrs. Lansford sighed heavily. "I know what you meant. And you don't owe me any thanks. I did it –and still intend to continue doing so, because I want to."

"I'm sure you were more help than you would ever admit to." He raised one eyebrow questioningly as he asked.

She tapped the spoon against her palm for a few moments while she contemplated her response. "Will, I have no idea what happened to you after your wedding was interrupted. It's not really any of my business. And I don't even want to imagine what could have possibly kept you away from her and the boy for so long," she nodded her head towards the house as she spoke, "I knew how much you loved her and how much you meant to me as a boy and knew I wouldn't be happy unless I helped look after them for you."

"Did you tell Elizabeth that?"

"Oh! Heavens no! For all I know she was just providing a kindly old woman with a job. If she believes otherwise then I know nothing of it."

"I'm sure she appreciates you." Will eyed the contents of the cauldron again.

Mrs. Lansford patted his cheek like she had when he was a boy. "I know. She makes sure I know that. And I'm as fond of them now as much as I ever was of you. They're what keeps me here now, having you back just makes it feel more…complete."

Will raised his hand to his face to cover hers and flashed a smile that lit up his entire face. "It does feel that way, doesn't it?"

The cook pulled her hand away and adopted a much sterner look in an attempt to cover the emotions that were about to overtake her. "I heard you ask Evan to show you around, but you can do that later. It's nearly time for lunch so you need to go get that boy of yours and wash up. Trust me; you don't want to make him wait for a meal." She made a shooing gesture with her hands. "And I suppose you should tell Mr. Tolliver too."

Will didn't miss the annoyance in her voice when she mentioned the tutor's name. "I haven't met him yet, but he doesn't seem to be anyone's favorite person."

"Oh, he's his _own_ favorite to be sure. And he's good at what he does. But he's certainly not the most pleasant person to be around." She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she spoke. "Now, go!"

Evan lingered outside the kitchen door for a few moments to see if Mrs. Lansford r_eally _needed him or if it was something Will could handle. It quickly became apparent that the venerable cook had completely forgotten about him as soon as she saw Will. Evan hadn't known until this morning that she had known Will from his younger days and he certainly hadn't had any reason to know or even suspect how much Will had meant to her, but the sight of her face when she laid eyes on him told the whole story. Had he not known better he would have taken them for long lost relatives who had been unexpectedly and happily reunited. There was clearly some type of bond between them. A bond that went far deeper than Evan had suspected.

Assuming that he was now free of any obligations to Mrs. Lansford and that his impromptu tour of the compound would be delayed, Evan decided to use his unexpected free time to go look for Mercedes. He was sure she would appreciate any help he could offer. Besides, just the thought of being around her today made him happy.

_Las flores del romero, niña Isabel, hoy son flores azules, mañana serán miel. _The unmistakable sound of Mercedes' bright soprano voice was coming from the laundry. Evan couldn't understand any of the lyric she was singing, as his Spanish was limited under the best of circumstances, but it was still pleasant to listen to. There was no way for him to even guess if what she was singing was a poem set to her own tune, a song of her on composing or something she had learned as a child in Spain. He stood quietly in the doorway and inhaled the soothing scent coming from the room. Lavender and rosemary with a hint of lemon - Elizabeth insisted on using them in nearly everything, the water, the laundry soap and who knew what else. Mercedes was so focused on her task that she was still unaware of Evan's presence. He gratefully accepted the rare opportunity to just watch her for a minute.

Mercedes stood on a stool wearing a liberally water and soap splashed apron over her gown. Her glossy black hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. A few stray wisps were plastered to her forehead by sweat and steam. The heat from the boiling vats of water brought out a pink flush to her olive skin. The petite girl was in the middle of transferring a mound of wet bed linens, from the boiling water of the washing vats, to the equally hot, but not soap filled water of the first of the rinsing tubs, by way of a huge wooden paddle – one that to all appearances she should not have been able to handle. It had never occurred to Evan until that moment that her physical strength was one of the many things he admired about her. She might complain about the amount of work she had, but she never shied away from hard labor. He had no doubt that she could quite take care of herself - quite handily if she had to.

"Here, let me help you." Evan offered.

Mercedes turned her head towards him, gave him an impish smile and then deftly flipped the sodden material into the second vat with hardly a splash.

"Or not." Evan laughed as he entered the humid interior of the building.

The smile turned softer as Evan approached. "That was the last of it, but you can help me clean up in there." She gestured towards the bathhouse door with a quick nod of her head – her pony tail flipping over one shoulder as she did. "I have no idea _what _went on in there, but it's a mess."

Evan could feel the tips of his ears beginning to warm with the beginnings of an embarrassed blush as he considered the possibilities of what quite possibly took place earlier in the room in question. Elizabeth and Will had been in there for quite a substantial length of time. It didn't help that that particular thought was quickly followed by an image of he and Mercedes in similar circumstances. _I can't think like that, she's so young. _Evan's cheeks began to turn pink too, not enough for an outright blush, but more than he could blame on the heat in the room. _But there are plenty of girls her age married already - and even some with a child._ "Of course," he responded, his voice cracking as he spoke.

Mercedes regarded him curiously. He was certainly acting a bit strange today. It was almost like he felt uncomfortable in her presence. He had never acted that way before. Was he regretting what had passed between them earlier? _Was I too forward?_ She stepped down off the stool, opened the door to the bath house and apprehensively gestured for Evan to follow.

The "mess" was nowhere near as bad as it easily could have been. Under most circumstances a room in its condition would merely be described as in disarray, but by Elizabeth's exacting standards, it was truly a disaster. There were still puddles, small and rapidly drying, near the base of the tub – evidence that a significant amount of water had been splashed onto the floor. Towels, ranging from damp to soggy, were scattered here and there. A bar of soap lay abandoned; dissolving into slippery goo, in one of the puddles. A tray containing the remnants of various fruits, crusts of bread and a now cold pot of tea rested on the table. Two unused tea cups kept everything company.

"Why do you have Miss Elizabeth's hair brush?"

"_What? _Oh, this," Even commented having forgotten the brush in his hand. "Will handed it to me. I suppose I should put it where it belongs." He walked to the dressing area to return it to its place, noticing that particular area of the room was as neat as a pin – yet more evidence to support his suspicions.

Mercedes chewed her bottom lip – pretending to study the room as she instead watched Evan walk away from her. Even she had to admit that the area could easily be put to rights in short order, but she just wanted to keep him around her for as long as possible. She had to know if he had meant it when he kissed her or if it was nothing more than a heat of the moment kind of thing. "Don't you think it's inappropriate for you to call Captain Turner by his first name?" She arched an inquisitive eyebrow in Evan's direction.

"He told me to." Evan started picking up towels. "But it's much easier to refer to him as Will than it will be for me to call him that." He frowned as he bent to pick up a discarded apple core that had been hidden by one of the towels.

"I'm not sure if I could." She continued to watch Evan work.

Evan straightened up, walked to the table and added the now brown remnants of the apple to the other items on the tray. He left the room for a moment to drop the towels into the still boiling vat of soapy water. "I'm not sure if you'll get a choice," he said as he came back in the room. "If you ever get brave enough to call him anything I'm sure he will tell you to call him Will too."

"Please don't remind me of this morning." Mercedes turned her back to him as she went to retrieve the rapidly melting chunk of soap. "I'm still embarrassed by it."

Evan's face fell as some of his hopes and dreams deflated. At least he had found out her true feelings before he did anything else to humiliate himself. He hadn't intended to embarrass her and there still was Mr. Tolliver's threat to tell Elizabeth what he had seen – or at least what he _thought_ he had seen. He certainly hadn't planned on kissing her, but he had very much wanted to.

"I suppose I'll just have to leave things outside the door from now on." She looked in the tub to see if there was anything there she needed to put back in its place.

Evan closed his eyes and exhaled heavily in relief. He had completely forgotten about Mercedes' unfortunate incident with the Turners that morning. "I'm sure the details will work themselves out."

Evan's sigh prompted Mercedes to look towards him. She looked at him with her brow knit in confusion. His behavior was getting harder and harder to figure out. She shook her head lightly as she turned back to the tub. She did a double take as she noticed several bits of plant material plastered to the bottom and sides. She gingerly picked one up to examine it closer and realized it was a strawberry hull. She felt her own face began to heat with embarrassment as it belatedly occurred to her that _bathing _wasn't the only thing that had gone on in here today. She busied herself picking strawberry bits from the tub so that Evan couldn't see her blush.

"As soon as we finish here it should be time for lunch."

"Do you think we'll still eat with the family now that he's back?" Mercedes voice echoed slightly from her leaning position that left her head below the rim of the metal tub.

"I don't see why not. We always have. I don't expect much to change." Evan noticed that Mercedes was making an effort to not have to actually call Will anything other than "he."

She straightened up, her hand full of green leaves, and turned back towards Evan and the doorway. "And we have Mr. Tolliver today." She scowled slightly as she said it. Like the rest of the household she found the abrasive tutor difficult to tolerate on the best of occasions. She crossed to the table and dumped the contents of her hand on the tray.

"I have a feeling that Mr. Tolliver may meet his match today," Evan said with a mischievous grin. "Why don't I take all of that back to the kitchen," gesturing towards the tray and its contents, "you can square everything away with the laundry and then wash up. I don't think anyone needs a scolding from Mrs. Lansford today.

Mercedes just smiled as she brushed past Evan, still standing in the doorway, to go back to the laundry. Evan followed her progress with his eyes as he backed into the bath house to complete his part the proposed assignments. So focused was he on the gentle sway of her hips as she walked, that he stumbled as he bumped into a chair that had not been pushed back in. Although Mercedes had to have heard the sound and known it for what it was, she made no overt response. Had Evan been able to see her face he would have noticed her lips curl with a faint smile of satisfaction, clearly pleased with her accomplishment.

"Wait!" Mrs. Lansford called to Will just as he was about to enter the house.

He stopped mid-step and reversed direction to see what last minute words of wisdom she might have for him before he faced his son's tutor for the first time – two bushy brown eyebrows arched questioningly as he looked at the woman who had looked out for him for so long in his youth.

"If he gives you any trouble, Mr. Tolliver that is, not the boy, then tell him that William needs to set the table so he'll learn the proper way to do it when he had guests."

Will's eyebrows scrunched down low over his eyes in confusion.

"And tell him it's only proper that a boy of his station know the proper seating arrangement for his guests."

Will's face went blank. "Oh," he said and nothing more.

Mrs. Lansford noticed the change in Will's expression and the hint of hurt in his eyes. "Now, Will Turner, just you remember that you're _not_ the blacksmith's apprentice anymore. You and your wife are respectable business owners and as such you _will _have to endure the occasional dinner guests – not that there have been any while you were gone, but I expect that shall change."

"But this isn't quite a dinner party now is it?" He still sounded a bit apprehensive, but the twinkle had returned to his eyes.

"Of course not, but telling that _man_ that it's part of William's….training? Yes, training," she said thoughtfully as she failed in her search for a better word. "Telling him it's part of his training as a respectable gentleman of society will take some of the sting out of having his lessons interrupted. It will make it easier on all of us."

"This isn't going to be one of those trials with too many forks and trying to figure out which one to use, is it? I always hated that when Elizabeth would invite me to dinner with her father. I was never very good at it." Will wrinkled his nose at the memory of muddling his way through far too many social occasions he had been ill prepared to handle or at least not quite as confident as he was elsewhere.

"Of course not. And I'm sure you did fine. She still married you didn't she?"

A tiny grin began to form at the corners of Will's mouth. "Yes, I suppose she did."

"Besides, a boy needs chores and setting the table is his. Now go before I find something else for you to do!"

Elizabeth headed up the stairs to her room to make one last inspection of her clothing. She was halfway up the stairs before she realized that she wasn't wearing shoes. How could she have actually gone outside of the house without any? Going barefoot was something she had never been allowed to do and it never occurred to her to do so now. The standard rules of propriety may have held little to no meaning to her, but the lack of appropriate footwear just didn't feel right – it was almost like she wasn't completely dressed. Even Will had always made sure there was something on his feet. She had hardly ever even seen his bare feet until their unavoidably truncated honeymoon. And yet since he had been home he hadn't put on his boots unless he absolutely had to. Granted, they were well worn and he needed some new ones, but his new found habit certainly wasn't helping as far as getting William to not run around unshod. They would have to have a talk about that she decided as she continued on her way.

She entered her room, noticing that the puddle of water from earlier was now gone, sat on the bed and put on a pair of soft slippers that matched her dress. Mr. Davidson would have to be contented with what she had chosen to wear that day. Normally she dressed far more formally when she was dealing with business matters, but today business had come to _her_ home on a day she had planned to spend getting reacquainted with her husband. Somehow her image of a calm, quiet reunion without intrusions from the outside world was not quite in line with their reality. Her often wished for _normal _life with Will was turning out to be far more work than she had anticipated. She fervently hoped that the past few days was not an example of what normal was going to be for them, or rather, not all of the last few days. Some of it she had quite enjoyed.

She sighed softly as she stood up, went to the mirror and critically examined her appearance in the silvered glass. She straightened a few stray tendrils of her hair to make herself more presentable as she turned her face from one side to the other and wondered what Will saw when he looked at her. She didn't think she looked bad for her age, but there was no denying that she was older now. She giggled as she noticed what appeared to be a bruise forming where her neck met her left shoulder blade. It wasn't so noticeable that she couldn't cover it by adding a fichu to her ensemble, but she did wonder if Evan had seen it. That didn't actually bother her so much as the idea that her son had noticed it. There were still some things she would rather not have to explain to him quite yet. Either Will would have to learn to be a bit more cautious in some of his amorous endeavors or _he _could explain things to his son. As much as the visual of Will having such a talk with William amused her, it was nowhere near as entertaining as the thought of Mr. Tolliver having seen the mark and recognizing it for what it was – most especially considering his most adamant stance on denying Will's existence.

Elizabeth straightened the scarf -like fichu around her neck and shoulders and left the room. Her thoughts now entirely engrossed with business matters. What could have possibly have brought the shipping firm's factor here and without any advance notice?

Oliver Davidson was just past fifty and looked every minute of it. He was only of middling height, with thinning gray hair wreathing his head giving him the appearance of having a monk's tonsure. He was slightly overweight, but that had only happened as he advanced in years and adopted a more sedentary lifestyle. His intelligent green eyes squinted behind thick glasses that he only recently had deigned necessary to wear. No one would ever mistake him for a fashion icon, but his clothes were of good quality, fit him well, and were well suited to him. He had been in Elizabeth Turner's employ as the main liaison between the company and clients for a bit more than four years now. Today was the first time in that tenure that he had ever encountered an issue that made him feel obligated to invade the privacy of her home.

As a young man growing up in England, Oliver Davidson dreamed of nothing but a life at sea. And so at the ripe old age of twenty he had signed on with His Majesty's Royal Navy to begin his career – a career that only lasted the length of time it took to travel from England to Jamaica. What Oliver had never counted on in all his study of life at sea was the fact that he became violently ill the moment he stepped on board. The very thought of attempting the crossing back to England had caused him great anguish. And so he had stayed in Port Royal. By that time he was far too old to begin a trade so he had taken it upon himself to learn what he could about shipping, in hopes that one day he might create a new career for himself, and so he had. He was not so gullible as to believe that he had done so all on his own. A wide swath of advancement opportunities had been created by the East India Trading Company's veritable purge of local businesses. Anyone suspected of being even remotely associated with piracy had been unceremoniously and sometimes quite literally cut down in their path. It was only by keeping a low profile that Oliver Davidson had managed to survive.

He paced nervously about the tiny office Mrs. Turner kept at her residence. As far as places of business went it looked like a standard office, but it was clearly not set up to accommodate potential clients as the only way in or out was through the main section of the Turner's house. The room's walls were paneled with dark wood –cherry, perhaps? There was a moderately sized desk, in a matching wood, sitting to one side, everything on its surface neatly organized. A bookcase lining part of one wall was filled with an assortment of ledgers and reference type materials. The remaining walls were covered with maps of the world's oceans and seas –small pins adorned with miniature flags in a variety of colors dotting their surfaces marking various points of interest to the Turner Castillo shipping company. Oliver knew that the colors and their locations held some significance to Elizabeth Turner, but she had never offered to explain and he had never offered to ask.

Upon closer inspection, one might notice the small details that marked this particular office as belonging to a woman. There were always fresh flowers scattered about the room. The lone window was adorned with distinctly feminine draperies and the chairs were upholstered in a fabric much more inclined to be aesthetically pleasing than durable. One corner of the desk hosted a modest collection of miniature portraits. Oliver recognized one of the former Governor of the island – a man he knew to be Mrs. Turner's father; a much older work featuring the same man - much younger, with a woman who bore such a strong resemblance to Elizabeth Turner that one could only assume the woman was her mother; a much more recent painting of Elizabeth's son, William, was featured prominently among the collection. Oliver often wondered how she had even gotten the boy to sit long enough to have his portrait painted, for while he was a well-behaved child, he was also an active one. Sitting still was _not _one of his more accomplished skills. The focal point of the arrangement was a portrait of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, perhaps younger, looking uncomfortable in his formal attire, but at the same time quite happy. Oliver has never asked, but had merely accepted that the man in the portrait was the enigmatic Captain Turner; although why she didn't have anything more recent always bothered him. Completing the tableau was a pencil drawing, obviously done by a young child, of a ship at sea, seemingly headed towards port – the man at the helm labeled "papa" in a child-like scrawl, on a spit of land off to one side of the paper were a woman and young child standing in front of a house. These too had been labeled. As much as Oliver had been tempted to inquire about the drawing he never had. Something about it made him feel that just by noticing it; he had intruded on something personal.

Oliver ceased his pacing and uncomfortably settled himself into on of the chairs. He certainly hadn't expected Mrs. Turner to take this long, but then again, he hadn't made much effort to impress the urgency of his matter upon the young man who had shown him to her office. Then again, perhaps it wasn't the matter itself that was so urgent, but his need to be rid of the responsibility. He struggled to push his concerns from his mind as he thought back on how he had come to be in the employ of the inestimable Elizabeth Turner and her unknown husband.

The letter had been delivered by private courier. It had been sealed with was inside of a cream colored envelope. Both the envelope and the stationary inside were both of the finest of papers. Oliver couldn't imagine who would be writing to him that would use such formality, much less go to that much expense. The letter itself was succinct and to the point_. "Dear Mr. Davidson," it had begun…_

_My husband and I find ourselves in the most fortunate of positions to acquire ownership of the company formerly known as Castillo Shipping. Most unfortunately, however, we find ourselves unable to devote the time and energy into such a monumental endeavor without the assistance of trustworthy and capable representatives in our myriad offices about the globe. _

_Your services were recommended to us by mutual acquaintances as a possible candidate to operate the facility we plan to establish in Port Royal. We trust you will find the enclosed list of duties and responsibilities within your range of talents and the accompanying salary offer to your satisfaction. _

_Kindly communicate your reply to the courier who delivered this letter. Should you choose to accept our offer; further instructions will follow in a timely manner. _

_Sincerely, _

_Captain William Turner_

_Mrs. Elizabeth Swann-Turner_

The offer had been more than enough to pique Oliver's interest and so he had inquired further. In spite of the fact that there were several unanswered questions on his part, - mainly, why the letter had been signed in a single hand, and that he had yet to meet the reclusive Captain Turner, not to mention he still had no clue as to who the "mutual acquaintance" was, he had never been given any reason to regret his decision. He had recognized Elizabeth's name immediately, but beyond that he knew little of her. He thought he remembered her marrying and leaving Jamaica years before and even had a vague recollection of there being something questionable about that particular event, but he wasn't sure what it had been. He had heard she had married below her station, but considering that her husband was the captain of his own ship, he must have misremembered that detail. Or was it she had jilted one naval officer for another. Either way, it mattered less than nothing to Oliver. Mrs. Turner was a good business woman. There had never been a single problem concerning their ships and the company – until today.

Oliver looked up as the door opened and Elizabeth swept into the room. The first thing he noticed was that she looked far more radiant than usual. The second was her apparent lack of concern with his presence in her home.

"So, Mr. Davidson. What brings you here today?"


	15. Time For Lunch

Will returned to the relative coolness of the house from the near oppressive heat of the kitchen. As he rounded the corner of the dining room, he caught the briefest flash of Elizabeth's skirts as she closed the door of the office behind her. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly as he contemplated the closed door. Although he knew full well that Elizabeth had managed to make a tidy living for herself and their son, not once during his absence had he considered the possibility that he would have to learn the ins and outs of being a member of the merchant class. It might very well be a step down socially for Elizabeth, but it was still another step up for him. And while he had briefly moved among the members of upper crust society, it had only been at Elizabeth's request in an effort to appease her father. Will had hated nearly every minute of it.

He had always known who he was – a skilled craftsman who earned his living with his hands; a gifted swordsman; an unwilling pirate. But that was before. Circumstance now left him unsure of who he was exactly – a husband and father to be sure, but what else? He had less of a clue as what to do next with himself. Life aboard a ship hardly lent itself to keeping his skills as a blacksmith intact. Besides, he had been the captain. His job was to supervise, not do manual labor and repairs – although truthfully he had frequently done so out of boredom if nothing else. Now that was behind him too. He had no inclination towards returning to the sea -on occasion_ –perhaps_, but never as an occupation. He was quite happy to be bound to dry land now.

Elizabeth was obviously in complete control of the shipping business, but he had no doubt that she intended for him to take on part of the responsibility – responsibility that had apparently come for an unexpected visit today. Will was bound to learn about whatever concern had brought the company's factor to their home, _and _be expected to assist in solving it, before too much longer. Something made him think that if he had had the proper attire, he too would have been pulled into this meeting as unprepared as he was. Admittedly, he was very curious about the situation, but that information would have to wait until later. He had other plans for the moment.

Will stood in silence for a moment as he looked around him. This was really the only time he had actually made an effort to notice details about the house. It was much larger inside than it initially appeared. It was also much darker than he would have guessed. The interior of the Governor's mansion had been light and airy. Nearly everything in this house had dark paneling, giving it the all too familiar sense of being part of a ship. _Was that intentional or just a coincidence? _He recognized odd bits and pieces of furniture and accessories from Elizabeth's former home and wondered how she had come to once again be in possession of them.

What struck him the hardest was the realization that this was the only time he had ever really had any place to call his own. Elizabeth might technically own the property, but it was still his _home – _something he had always dreamed of having and had waited so long to have. Growing up he had been afforded the smallest of spaces in other people's homes - first, where his mother had worked and then with the Brown's when he first arrived in Port Royal. Even had his and Elizabeth's wedding not been interrupted they would have initially lived in a suite of rooms provided by her father. They would have been together, but it still wouldn't have been their own. And while some people may have thought of a ship as home, it never had been for Will. For the first time in his life, he had a _real _family and the freedom to be with them. - home was wherever they were.

He smiled contentedly to himself as he quietly walked to the partially open door to the study. The sound of both his son's voice and that of his tutor drifted through the stillness of the house. The calm steadiness of William's voice contrasted sharply to the shrill impatience of Mr. Tolliver's. Perhaps Elizabeth was right, William was quite capable of handling his instructor's demands, academic and otherwise. That still didn't make the way the man treated William right or acceptable.

Will stopped just outside the study and leaned against the door jamb. If he tilted his head just right he could see William seated at the desk, his head resting on his balled up fists as he stared into a thin book. The flicker of motion to one side and the sound of pacing footsteps must have been Mr. Tolliver. Will noticed a small smile creep across William's face as he cast a single furtive glance towards the door before directing his attention back to his lesson.

"Answer the questions and make sure you focus on your intonation and pronunciation. They're both terrible." Mr. Tolliver demanded as he impatiently tapped the thin, willowy rod he used as a pointer, against the palm of one hand.

William sighed with annoyance. He _liked _learning languages, but it did get discouraging when no one ever gave you any words of encouragement. _That _was learning French with Mr. Tolliver. Actually, that was what learning _anything _with Mr. Tolliver was like. If it weren't for being able to practice speaking with his mother, William would have promptly forgotten everything he learned. Learning Spanish from Mercedes wasn't like that. Those informal lessons were just for fun, but sought her out whenever possible to teach him something new. _I wonder if papa knows any other languages? _

"Je m'appele William Turner. J'ai neuf ans. Je suis a la maison."

"Passable, but only just. Please continue."

"Ma mere s'appele Elizabeth Turner. Elle a trente et deux ans. Elle est dans sa… chambre?" William answered hesitantly. He could barely see his father standing out in the hall, but he truthfully had no idea where his mother could be at the moment if she wasn't with him. Saying she was still in her bedroom was as good an answer as any.

"Mostly likely still asleep at this hour. Your mother certainly enjoys her life of leisure," the tutor said caustically.

Will and William, head now raised, both narrowed their eyes in disgust at Tolliver. Both opted to hold their tongues at the moment. While Elizabeth did en joy sleeping in, this late hour would be pushing even her limits.

William put his head back down and continued his assignment. Will noted proudly that his son seemed to be more like him as far as temperament was concerned. Elizabeth would have already taken the man to task. Will had spent a lifetime keeping his emotions in check. He certainly wasn't about to let this man test his control.

"Mon pere s'appele William Turner aussi. Il a trente et deux ans aussi. Il est ici maintenant."

"Will you and your mother never cease to insist that your father will show up at any moment? There is no such man. Your mother made him up to lessen her shame," Mr. Tolliver snapped.

Will looked up from his book again, his face totally impassive aside from one more quick glance towards his father.

"Her shame for _what_? I don't think my mother has anything to be ashamed of," Will said quietly, but defiantly.

Mr. Tolliver bent over the desk and leaned in so close to William that he could count the stray whiskers he had missed when he had last shaved.

"The shame that comes from bearing a child outside the bonds of holy matrimony," he hissed.

"I don't know what that means," William stammered as he leaned back from his tutor.

"It means the wretch that got your mother with child never took the time to marry her. Most likely he never had any inclination to do so." Tolliver glared at the boy as he continued. "There is no Will Turner, he's a figment of her imagination - or if he is real, he certainly wants nothing to do with the two of you. If he did, he would have shown up by now."

William blinked his eyes one time, slowly and with great deliberation as he stared his tutor straight in the eyes. "My mother and father _are _married. Mama would never lie to me about that. And my father is home now so I think you might owe him an apology." William spoke softly and slowly, hardly above a whisper, but with such determination that even the most skeptical of men would have taken notice of what the little boy had said.

Mr. Tolliver reached up and nervously fingered his collar as he straightened back up. Normally the Turner boy was almost passive in his lessons. No matter how much criticism was dished out, William just took it all in stride and continued what he was doing. Today, however…today was different. _Something _had inspired the boy to push back, but exactly what that something was remained a mystery to the tutor. "Put your hands on the table," Mr. Tolliver commanded, "palms up."

William sat motionless and continued to calmly stare at his tutor. "Why?"

"_WHY? _You have the audacity to ask me _why? _ You know as well as anyone that I do not and will not tolerate insolence and lies, most especially from you!" The man sputtered as his face began to turn red with uncontrolled anger.

"But I am telling the truth. I just don't understand why you never believe me or my mother. Is there some _reason _that you hate us so?" William was still keeping his emotions under control, but Will could tell from the sound of his voice that he was beginning to get a little agitated. His instincts were to jump in and rescue the boy, but he refrained. This was something that had been building between William and his tutor for a very long time and as such he needed to see it through to the end. Should things start to get out of hand, then and _only _then would Will allow himself to come to his son's defense.

"I have no tolerance for people who use money and social connections to position themselves above hardworking citizens. Now, hands on the table, palms up."

"My mother does work hard, she had to while Papa was away," William said defiantly, never once breaking eye contact with Mr. Tolliver, as he lay both of his hands on the desk top, and then slowly turned them palms up as requested.

Ivan Tolliver tapped the palm of his left hand a few times with the whip-like rod that he still had in his hand. The look in his eyes betrayed his delight in dispensing punishment to the boy he never could break. He drew back his right hand and took a hard swing towards William's open palms.

THWACK!

The only sound coming from the room was the rod connecting with nothing but wood.

William smiled slightly at the man as he returned his hands to his lap after having pulled them out of harm's way, much to the dismay of his tutor.

"_**WHAT **_do you think you're doing?" came an angry voice from the hallway.

Mr. Tolliver turned just in time to see a man he did not recognize shove open the door with one bare foot as he stepped into the room. The tutor looked the man up and down. A mask of utter disregard for the man's authority formed on his face as he noted the slightly damp, unbound hair, the bare feet, the less than pristine clothes – in disarray at that, and the tiny gold loop in his ear that marked him as a sailor. "I don't know who you are, but I am quite sure that you lack the authority to question my judgment when it comes to disciplining this boy," Mr. Tolliver replied haughtily as he gestured towards William. "And I see that Mrs. Turner's lack of discipline among her servants isn't just restricted to being morally corrupt. I shall have to inform her of your disrespectful behavior."

William giggled. Mr. Tolliver shot him an angry glance. "I fail to see what you find so amusing about the situation," he snapped. "And _you _are?" He asked directing his attention back to Will who was now standing completely inside the study. Will's expression was still calm, but a fierce protectiveness of his only surviving child shone in his eyes.

"That's my father," William supplied cheerfully as he sprang out of his seat and crossed to Will who reached out to put an arm around the boy's narrow shoulders.

Mr. Tolliver narrowed his eyes in disgust, but couldn't help but to now see what he had missed at first glance – that the physical resemblance between the pair was too strong for them to be anything other than father and son. "I don't believe I gave you permission to get up?" Mr. Tolliver's voice was beginning rise in pitch the longer he talked – much more and he would sound like the rodent he resembled.

"I'm sure that as a man so well versed in what is proper and what is not, that you will agree that any permissions I grant my son undoubtedly supersede your own," Will pointed out in a voice that left no doubt that he was well versed in giving orders and accustomed to having them followed – no questions asked.

Mr. Tolliver opened and closed his mouth several times much in the same manner a fish does when it suddenly finds itself out of water. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears as it slowly sank in how much his position had abruptly changed. Hardly a minute had gone by between the confident security of being in total control of his student to being faced down by a man who exuded not only a sense of authority, but also a touch of danger. The now subdued tutor thought it best to not argue such a minute point as to which one of them William should listen to at the moment. It would be a skirmish he would no doubt lose.

William wrapped his arms around his father's waist and leaned into him as Will offered a hand to the now speechless Ivan Tolliver. "I'm Will Turner and yes, I do exist." Will cocked his head to one side as if trying to recall something. "And while I'm at it, yes, William is my son. Yes, his mother and I _are _married. Yes, I have been away for quite some time, but no more. Is that all? Or do you have any other burning questions that are none of your concern but get the best of your curiosity anyway?" Despite the potentially caustic subject of Will's momentary tirade, he managed to say everything in the most pleasant voice imaginable -a point that was not lost on Mr. Tolliver.

Tolliver eyed Will's hand suspiciously for a moment before accepting the handshake. "I'm...I'm Ivan Tolliver, your son's _private _tutor," he stammered.

"So I gather," Will commented still keeping his tone light, thereby causing the other man to continue to squirm uncomfortably even more than before. "But right now I need William to get ready for lunch." Will looked down at his son to discover that he was staring up at him. "Miss Mary says you need to learn to set the table and today would be the perfect time to practice."

William sighed in mock exasperation. "I don't see why there have to be so many forks and spoons. Isn't one of each enough?"

Will stifled a laugh and shook his head. "I've tried that argument on your mother. It doesn't work."

"Will you help me?" William inquired hopefully.

Will had to think quickly to come up with a plausible excuse to not help rather than to admit to his son that he had no idea where all the utensils were supposed to go. Either Elizabeth had never told their son about Will's life growing up or William simply had not yet realized how different his own upbringing was from that of either of his parents. Will crouched down to eye level with William and held his chin in his hand. "I think it best that I go find something to put on my feet before your mother finishes with her business matter. You know how she is about bare feet," Will said as he ruffled his son's already unruly hair.

"She wouldn't scold _you_ would she?" William asked with wide eyed incredulity.

Will's eyes twinkled with amusement as a lopsided smile formed on his face. "I'm afraid that no one is exempt from her tongue when she feels the need to set something or _someone _straight. Now you go wash up and do as Miss Mary asked." Will stood up and turned towards the door. "And make sure you show Mr. Tolliver where he can wash up too. He is our guest and as such should be treated with the respect he deserves." Will may have sounded the gracious host to any casual eavesdropper, but the look that he gave Mr. Tolliver on his way out of the room was clearly a warning to the tutor to carefully consider anything he might think to say - or do, to William.

"Yes, sir," William answered both obediently and respectfully – two characteristics that his tutor claimed the boy did not have.

Will, now wearing his boots, with his shirt tucked in and his hair tamed somewhat, descended the stairs two by two. Elizabeth was still closeted with Mr. Davidson, discussing whatever emergency that had prompted his unscheduled visit to the house. And while Will had no cause for concern he just wasn't entirely comfortable leaving William unattended with Mr. Tolliver at the moment. William, for some unknown reason, had picked today to push his boundaries with his tutor. Perhaps it was due to an added sense of security knowing that both of his parents were present and accounted for or perhaps the boy had simply reached the limit of his patience. He was, after all, just barely nine. How much could he -or _should_ he be expected to tolerate before he started pushing back. Will couldn't say exactly why, but he got the distinct impression that Mr. Tolliver had some unspoken axe to grind with the Turners, but as to what it could be, he had no idea.

Will stepped off the lower landing and rounded the corner to see the boy in question standing, arms akimbo, staring at the table. His tutor stood across from him looking as sour as always. From what Will could see, William had completed his task as instructed. As to its accuracy, he had no clue. That would have to wait until his mother joined them and passed her judgment. Will walked up behind his son and placed a hand on either shoulder. "Is there something amiss?" He asked teasingly.

William looked up at his father pleadingly. He needed him for something; Will just wasn't sure exactly what. He mentally prepared himself for yet another impromptu lesson in parenting.

"Miss Mary said I have to decide where everyone sits too. It's part of learning to be a proper host, but it's not coming out like I wanted."

"In the first place, it is _entirely _inappropriate for servants to eat in the dining room with the family," interjected Mr. Tolliver in his most refined voice. He obviously was regaining his composure, and along with it, his unpleasant attitude.

"We don't have servants," Will said flatly. "The people you are referring to are considered part of our family and as such, join us for meals." Truthfully, Will had no idea if this was the case or not, but since William had laid out the table to accommodate Evan, Mercedes and Mrs. Lansford, he assumed it to be true. It was not the first, and probably not the last, time he had been called upon to bluff his way through a situation he wasn't entirely familiar with.

"One just does _not_ dine with the hired help," persisted Mr. Tolliver.

"But in a sense, aren't you also hired help?" William asked innocently enough although truthfully he knew exactly what he was doing. "Aren't you paid to teach me?"

William's tutor glared at him in irritation. "It's not quite the same," he snarled.

"I honestly don't see a difference," mused Will. "Besides, this _is _my house which means my rules apply," he added more pointedly. "Now, William… what was this seating problem you had?"

Will's complete dismissal of Mr. Tolliver's complaints did not sit well with him. He locked his countenance into a grimace, crossed his arms in front of him and anxiously awaited the opportunity to pounce upon William's next social blunder.

"_You _sit there - at the head of the table," William said, pointing towards the chair that as recently as Tuesday, had been occupied by Elizabeth. "That means mama should sit there," he added pointing to the far end of the table. "But that's where Miss Mary usually sits so she can be closer to the kitchen if we need anything. Besides, I'm sure mama wants to sit next to you."

"Oh, I think I understand your problem now." Will was bemused by the seriousness his son had invested in his dilemma.

William sucked in a breath of air, puffed out his cheeks and then exhaled hard. "That's not _all_."

"It isn't?" Will fought to control his amusement.

"I always sit here." He placed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, located to the right of Will's. "But if Mr. Tolliver sits there, because he's the guest," he gestured to the chair directly across from his own, "then either I have to give mama _my_ chair or she has to sit somewhere else and that's not fair."

"What about Evan and…Mercedes?" Will spoke slowly as if he was still trying to make sure he had their names right.

"They always sit down there," he pointed toward the far end, "but if I have to make Miss Mary move for mama then that gets messed up too."

"You really _do _have a problem, don't you?" Will was beginning to wonder if William had inherited his own need to do what was right before he did what he wanted and how this particular issue, as minor as it was, would play out.

"And what problem is that?" Elizabeth asked curiously as she approached Will from behind.

Will turned the upper half of his body to face her, removed his right hand from William's shoulder and instead reached his arm out to encircle Elizabeth's waist. He pulled her in close and leaned in to kiss her. He perhaps lingered a few seconds longer than warranted, but it was all for the benefit of Mr. Tolliver. If having the family cook sit at the table with him caused so much distress, Will could only imagine what an overt display of affection would do. "He can't decide where everyone should sit," Will said as he pulled back from his wife.

"Mmm?" Elizabeth mumbled having temporarily forgotten her own question. "Where to sit?"

Will grinned at her such that only she could see the mischief in his eyes. "Yes, where to sit. Our son is playing host and it's proving to be most confusing."

Elizabeth placed one of her hands on her son's free shoulder. "Seating arrangements can be a most daunting task indeed," she said in all seriousness. "You must be ever so cautious as to not place an unsuspecting guest next to someone they would find…_unpleasant._"

William looked up at his mother and wrinkled his nose in acknowledgement of her not so subtle insult.

"And since this is merely an informal family luncheon," Elizabeth said almost slyly, "I see no reason for us to not sit where we normally do and all Mr. Tolliver to choose from what is left." Elizabeth looked the man straight in the eyes and coldly added "I would hate for him to be put in the uncomfortable position of thinking he had inconvenienced us in any way."

It was perfectly clear to the tutor that Elizabeth's intent was to let him know that not only did she not wish to be inconvenienced for his sake, she blatantly _refused _to be. She had laid out his choices for him earlier in the day and she had no intention of modifying them.

Before Mr. Tolliver could react or make a comment, the doors leading from the dining area to the outside opened and admitted Evan and Mercedes. The pair entered standing in much closer proximity to each other than was customary and were quite obviously enjoying their own little joke. Mercedes pulled up short as soon as she noticed William's tutor. The cheerful smile left her face and she lowered her head to peer studiously at the floor. Evan looked at the man in much the same way one would look at a bug one was deciding whether or not to crush under one's heel.

"I'll be needing all of you to clear out of my way," said Mrs. Lansford as she made her way through the door with a large tureen of lamb stew which she set in the center of the long table. "Are you going to be eating standing up or are you going to be sitting down?" she questioned the cluster of people milling about the table before heading back out to the kitchen.

William didn't wait for a second invitation. He pulled out his usual chair and plopped down in it. He remained hardly more than a few seconds before he popped back up and headed for the seat opposite him. His intent was to hold the chair for his mother, as he always did, like a proper gentleman, but his father beat him to it. Will leaned down to William and whispered something in his ear. William nodded, flashed both of his parents a huge grin and then returned to his seat.

Mercedes took the seat to William's right with Evan next to her. Elizabeth and William looked at each other curiously at this modification in the arrangements. Will remained blissfully ignorant of anything out of the ordinary as far as that particular pair was concerned. Mrs. Lansford returned with a fresh baked loaf of crusty brown bread and a crock full of newly churned butter, so fresh that it was nearly white in color, which she sat next to the stew before taking her customary seat at the end of the table directly opposite from Will.

Elizabeth snuck a glance at the now completely befuddled Mr. Tolliver and fought back a triumphant grin. Despite the fact that this was the first time that the extended version of the Turner clan had sat down for a meal together, everyone assumed their roles as if this was the way they had always done things.

Mr. Tolliver disapprovingly perused the remaining choices of seats before settling on the one to Elizabeth's left and directly across from Mercedes. He pulled out the chair, smoothed out his coat, and artfully arranged himself in the seat. Mrs. Lansford, who made no effort to conceal her distain for the overly arrogant man, cast him a look of total disgust. While Evan opted to ignore his existence as much as possible, he couldn't entirely forget his threat from earlier that morning. Mercedes obviously remembered too what Mr. Tolliver had taken issue with and continued to keep her head down to avoid eye contact with him. Each of the trio was well aware of what measures Ivan Tolliver would go to in order to make sure his point was made, some real or imagined slight was amended, or ensuring that his overly strict sense of what was proper was adhered to. As such, no one was in much of a mood to provoke him today, not with Will recently returned from wherever he had been. It didn't matter that two of them had never met him and the third hadn't seen him in years, it was just that easy to assign their loyalty to him without thinking twice about it.

"What have you been learning today?" Elizabeth asked William after he had said grace and everyone was helping themselves to stew and bread.

"Greek mythology," he replied while chewing thoughtfully on a chunk of bread. "I read about Atlas." He looked back and forth between his parents. "He's Calypso's father, you know."

"That was _not _part of our lesson today," snapped Mr. Tolliver.

"I know. I've read about them already," William told his tutor before returning his attention to Will and Elizabeth. "There's a picture of her in the book too, Calypso that is, but it's not how I remember her looking, but I was very little then, so maybe I didn't remember right."

Will froze with a mug of water to his mouth. He sputtered slightly before quickly regaining his composure. He directed his gaze towards his wife. Elizabeth was definitely caught even more unawares than her husband.

"_What?" _she squeaked.

"That's a perfect example of the boy's outlandish fabrications," Mr. Tolliver announced with an air of vindication.

William didn't pay him any mind, nor did his parents. Mrs. Lansford huffed in indignation at the implication. Will cautiously and calmly lowered the mug to the table, all the while looking directly at his son. When he was absolutely sure that he had his complete, undivided attention, he raised one eyebrow and shook his head ever so slightly, all the while hoping that William would comprehend that talk of seeing a mythological goddess was perhaps not the most appropriate topic of conversation given the present company. _When could he have seen her? Surely she didn't show herself to him? And if she did, why?_

William sighed in acknowledgement of his father's silent and well intentioned rebuke as he redirected his tale. "The book we have doesn't _even _mention Davy Jones, or the curse, or even the _Flying Dutchman_." William's tone clearly indicated that he believed this to be common knowledge and therefore included in any reliable text.

"And _why_ should it? One tale has educational value by providing insight into the mindset of the ancient Greeks through their belief system and the other is merely a ghost story intended to frighten impudent young boys," Mr. Tolliver proselytized arrogantly.

"But I've seen it. It's real" said a quietly hesitant voice.

Elizabeth dropped her spoon in shock as everyone turned to stare at Mercedes.

"What did you say?" Evan asked Mercedes still not quite believing he had heard her quite right.

"I said I've seen it – The _Flying Dutchman_. It is a ghost ship, but it's real." Her voice was gaining strength as her confidence grew. "It wasn't very long after I left Spain with Mrs. Turner." She lifted her head and bravely looked at everyone's face. It was late October or maybe November. Our ship was anchored and I could see it alongside of us. It blended into the mist so it was hard to see, but it was there all night."She scooped up a healthy spoonful of stew and continued her meal as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened or been said.

"Why didn't you even mention this before?" Evan was beginning to sound slightly panicked as he tried to guess exactly what Mercedes knew. He cast a nervous glance at the elder Turners who were staring at each other while silently trying to devise a subtle plan to redirect the topic of conversation to something a bit less dangerous.

Mercedes shrugged noncommittally. "No one ever asked. Why should they? Sometimes I can see things that other people can't or just don't - I'm not sure which, so I didn't really think much of it at the time." She picked up a piece of bread and began to slather it with butter, her forehead creased in deep thought. "Was it important?"

Mr. Tolliver glared down his nose at Mercedes. "I'm afraid I must rest my case. It would appear that young Master Turner is suffering from a lack of appropriate role models from his parents on down. It's no wonder he acts the way he does with people filling his head with such outlandish tales." He made a point of directing the last bit towards Will, who wisely chose to ignore him.

William noticed and understood who the insult was intended for and refused to back down. "But papa didn't tell me those stories, he wasn't here. Uncle Hector did," he corrected Mr. Tolliver's erroneous assumption. He then looked at Mercedes with a look of disappointment. "You never told me you had seen it too."

"And exactly who is _Uncle _Hector?" inquired Mr. Tolliver in hot pursuit of another family member to blame for William's faults. "I was under the impression that the family was limited to Mrs. Turner and the boy."

"He's not _really _my uncle. He's a pirate captain, just like –"

"WILLIAM! That's quite enough!" Elizabeth interjected after finally having found her voice. "I'm afraid I have to agree that now is _not_ the time, _no_r the place for a conversation like this." Her gaze flicked towards Will once to see how he was reacting to everything. He appeared quite calm and collected, as was his fashion, but Elizabeth could tell that he was at a loss as to what to do or say at the moment. He couldn't very well throw in his support for what William was saying, as it would reveal more about his absence than he cared to and not by his choice. But he was bound and determined to not provide Tolliver even the most insignificant of reasons to berate William any further.

William looked from his mother to his father and quickly decided it was best not to argue at this particular point with his mother. His father was still an unknown quantity as far as how far he could push his patience and thus he rightfully decided not to test the waters right now. "I'm sorry, papa. I should have known better than to discuss family matters in front of strangers. I'll go to my room now." He stood up and turned from the table.

Mrs. Lansford and Mercedes looked at William in confusion as to what he could possibly mean by "family" matters. Hadn't they been talking about what he had read in a book and a simple ghost story? How could that possibly have any bearing on the Turner family? William's parents and Evan seemed totally unfazed by his declaration and took his comment in stride. Mr. Tolliver looked disgusted as usual.

"William?" Will said quietly as he leaned towards his son and reached out to catch him with one arm. "Sit back down, you're not in trouble."

"You're not angry with me?" William kept his eyes downcast.

"No, why should I be?" Will leaned forward and reassuringly touched his forehead to his son's.

"Because…because…no reason?" William asked hopefully.

"Exactly." Will put his hand of the back of William's head. "Now sit back down and finish your lunch."

"This is really quite remarkable," Mr. Tolliver announced as he tossed down his napkin and stood up. "Not only is this girl," jerking his head towards Mercedes "not only is she allowed to consistently be an inappropriate role model for the boy with her behavior and lies, the boy himself isn't punished for his own prevarications. I'm afraid I find this completely unacceptable and intolerable and as such I now find that I am unable to continue to offer my services."

"Shall I show you the door or can you find your own way out?" Elizabeth inquired sweetly. She could see the tiny grin begin to form on William's face as he returned to his seat. She had no idea how Will was reacting to Mr. Tolliver's outburst as looking at him would require her to turn her head –something she was not willing to do since it would require her to interrupt her staring match with William's tutor.

Mr. Tolliver broke first. He redirected his attention towards Will who was quietly watching things unfold. "Are you going to stand for this?" Mr. Tolliver asked angrily in a raised voice. "Do you allow your _wife_ to make the decisions around here?"

Will raised both eyebrows in surprise at what the man was implying. He looked from Mr. Tolliver to Elizabeth and back again. "While it is truly none of your concern, we make our decisions together. You're the one who tendered your resignation, I think she was just being polite and since she has so generously offered to show you out, then no, I don't need to _stand _for this. I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you."

"Well, I never!" The now unemployed tutor blurted out as he left his place by the table and headed for the study.

"Perhaps that's the problem," Mrs. Lansford muttered under her breath.

Everyone sat quietly enjoying their meal as Mr. Tolliver collected his things and stormed out the front door. There was a tangible sense of relief when at last they heard it creak open and then slam shut.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say" announced Mrs. Lansford to no one in particular.

Will gave Elizabeth a faintly worried glance. She sheepishly smiled back at him before catching a glimpse of William's face and the obvious relief reflected there.

"Did I over react?" She asked softly.

Will began to laugh further easing the tension around the table. "My inclination is to say that no, you didn't. You simply beat me to it. But…" He glanced at the other people seated at the table. "I think we need to have a serious talk before something like that happens again." He laid his hands on the table as he turned his head to look at Elizabeth for encouragement. "I'm assuming the rest of you have questions that I owe you answers for."

Elizabeth shook her head as she covered his hand with her own. "Will, if you're not ready…"

"I have a question, papa." William got out of his seat and wrapped his arms around his father's neck.

Will's used his free hand to awkwardly lay his palm against his son's cheek. "And what might that be."

William leaned closer and loudly whispered "Does this mean I'm done with my lessons for today?"


	16. Not Enough Answers

It was well past dark before Mary Lansford began her walk home. Her mind was awhirl as she struggled to process all of the day's events. Dealing with the aftermath of Mr. Tolliver's tirade and subsequent resignation would have been enough, yet that was just the beginning. Even without the unfortunate confrontation with Tolliver, Will's return alone would have made for an eventful day, but that, coupled with the tale he had spun explaining his absence… It was almost too much to comprehend in one day. And yet she knew he was telling the truth – she couldn't even imagine Will telling so much as a fib, much less an outright lie. Furthermore, she felt in her bones that there must be more to the story than he had admitted today. And while he had given everyone permission to ask questions, it was quite apparent that there were still several topics that were still off limits. As such, no one asked anything.

Will had remained perfectly calm during the ordeal and although the emotion sometimes showed in his voice, it remained steady for the most part. He had remained seated at the table as Elizabeth held his left hand in both of hers; gently caressing the back of it the entire time he spoke. She never once looked away from him – the look of complete adoration for him was the same as Mary had remembered from their youth. Will's other arm was wrapped around his son, his hand lightly gripping the boy's arm. At one point William had rested his head on his father's shoulder. Instinctively, Will had tilted his own head to rest on top of his son's. It was clear that Will drew much, if not all, of his strength from his family. That thought had made Mary happy. Will's life had been seriously short on happiness even _before_ he had fled Port Royal, with Elizabeth being the only obvious exception. Mary had only belatedly realized that the two Williams Turner had never been afforded the chance to know each other before this week – it was going to take some time to reconcile that in Mary's mind - although it did increase her estimation of Elizabeth's skills as a mother. William quite obviously knew all about his father and was indeed, quite like him. The same evidently held true for Will's knowledge of his son.

It had been immediately apparent that Evan had known all along where Will had been and why. Mary also guessed that Evan also knew most, if not all, of the unmentioned details –both those that were off limits and otherwise. It had been easy, at least for Mary, to discern that Evan knew much more than he let on and yet he had never actually met Will before this morning. There had to be a story there too. She felt that in time, she would learn that one as well. Mary had _always_ had great respect for the young man – he was kind, he was a hard worker and he was loyal to a fault, but that respect had increased one hundred fold as she realized the secrets he had faithfully kept since he was a child. There was a tangible sense of relief from him as his burden was finally lifted and understandably so.

Mercedes' reaction – or lack of one -was what Mary had found most curious. She had taken everything in stride as if the story Will told was an everyday occurrence in her world. That the Spanish girl was overly superstitious was an established fact among the members of the household – as was her uncanny ability to see things in people that no one else could. On more than one occasion she had foreseen an event that could have affected the family and while those events had never been anything that warranted great concern, she had been so accurate that no one ever questioned her any more. If often struck the cook odd that a girl, who was so forgetful and easily distracted, could just _know _certain things.

As for herself, she had been horrified at the ordeal Will had described and yet all of it rang true. She had been born into a sea-faring family in Ireland; she had been raised to respect the vast open waters and its mysteries. She had even married a sailor and raised sons who made the sea their lives. Tales of Davy Jones and the _Flying Dutchman_ were nothing out of the ordinary to her. It just never occurred to her that one of those tales would touch her life directly. If nothing else the whole thing made her stiffen her resolve as far as protecting the Turner family was concerned – they had been through enough.

Mercedes and Evan sat side by side on the garden bench just as they had earlier that day. The awkward tension between them with regards to their newly discovered regard for each other was palpable - blending perfectly with the already muggy night. The only thing about the evening that was _not _uncomfortable was the cool breeze blowing in off the Caribbean. It was just enough to make the humidity bearable and to keep the mosquitoes away – two perpetual drawbacks to where they lived. It was the perfect night to just sit and do nothing –not even talk. And for a long time, they didn't.

"Tell me about the chest," Mercedes asked suddenly, disturbing the mood and startling Evan.

"What chest?" Evan winced internally. Will hadn't mentioned the chest and what it contained, but it had been impossible not to notice its presence and how protective Elizabeth was of it.

"The one Miss Elizabeth had in her bedroom. It's gone now," she pushed.

"Is it?" Evan truly was taken by surprise by that piece of information. He hadn't had reason to notice its absence and no one had mentioned it, but then again, why would they? On the rare occasions that someone had seen the chest and inquired about it, Elizabeth had simply claimed it was nothing more than a souvenir from her travels. No one, save Mercedes and Mrs. Lansford, had seen it enough times to notice how protective of it Elizabeth was so the ruse had worked beautifully.

"Yes. It has something to do with him, doesn't it? Something that allowed him to cross back to this side and stay." Mercedes spoke hesitantly as if the ideas were just now forming in her head.

Evan looked at her curiously, but did not speak. What could he say? He knew what was in the chest, but he hadn't known that it was now gone. _Is Will's heart still in it? Or does it contain the heart of the new captain? _He was now in the awkward position of not knowing what he could or even should tell Mercedes. Did he even _know _the answers to her questions? _It was so much easier when the rule was just not to speak of it._

"His heart," Mercedes said in an eerily calm voice. She looked directly at Evan, who continued to avoid her eyes. "He gave her his heart. That's what was in the chest. That's how he could come back." Mercedes was beginning to sound excited now, as if she had solved some great mystery that had long vexed her. "But it's not there now."

"What?" Now it was Evan's turn to solve a riddle. "What do you mean it's not there? Where else would it be?"

"Where it belongs of course," she said impishly. "That's why the chest is gone."

Evan again was at a loss for words. She sounded so sure of herself and it wasn't as if there hadn't been other occasions that she had said things that sounded impossible to believe. It didn't matter if there was not a cloud in the sky, if Mercedes said it was going to rain, then rain it did.

"I'm right, ¿no?" she asked in a voice that clearly showed how sure she was of herself.

"Yes, about what was in the chest. As for the rest of it…I honestly don't know. I don't think it's our place to ask. "

Mercedes nodded in agreement. "How long have you known?" she asked.

"About Captain Turner – Will, I mean? And what happened to him? Since I was eleven. I was on one of the ships during the battle, though I wasn't supposed to be. I didn't actually see everything that took place, but news of that sort travels fast," Evan replied with a far away sound to his voice.

"Is that when you met Miss Elizabeth?" Mercedes continued conversationally.

"Yes…No…not exactly. I didn't meet her until almost two days later. I was with the rescue party they sent from Shipwreck to bring her back after…" Evan's voice cracked at the emotion the memory brought forth. "She's been my priority and responsibility ever since," he added without the slightest tinge of regret.

"Eleven is awfully young to take on a responsibility like that. Who made you do it?"

"No one made me. I made that decision on my own. She just seemed so lost and alone. And I didn't have anyone either so, it just seemed the right thing to do. I think…" Evan stopped for a moment to collect his seemingly random thoughts. "I think after I started hearing the stories of what he -_Will_, was like and how he ended up where he was I kind of felt an odd sort of kinship with him. That feeling made me want to help her."

"Did he survive a shipwreck too?" Mercedes put one hand on the bench on either side of herself.

"Yes, more than one I think," Evan timidly covered her hand with his. "Who told _you_ I had survived a shipwreck? It's not something most people know."

Mercedes turned her hand over so that their palms were now touching. "No one told me. I just _know_. It's hard to explain." Her answer told him that not only was an explanation difficult for her - it would not be forthcoming either.

"Did you really see the _Dutchman_?" It wasn't that Evan had doubted her earlier claim, but he was looking for any reason to prolong their conversation. He was enjoying spending some quiet time with her. _Her hands are so small compared to mine. _

"Yes. More than once." Mercedes turned her head towards Evan with a look that indicated she had just realized something. "I saw it quite often, sometimes anchored nearby and sometimes just sailing alongside."

"Is there a reason you never mentioned that before?" Evan asked without trying to sound accusatory.

"No one ever asked and my English was still very bad," she explained as she curled her fingers though his. "It's not normal to see it, is it?"

Evan shook his head. "It usually means someone is about to drown."

Mercedes shuddered involuntarily at the thought. "I'm grateful I didn't know that then." She sat quietly for a moment, looking up at the stars. "But that's not why it would anchor next to us when we were aboard the _Pearl_. I knew someone came aboard that wasn't normally there – I could _feel _them. It was _him_, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sometimes Calypso would allow him a few hours to see Elizabeth, sometimes not more than a few minutes," Evan verified.

"When the boundaries between here and….I don't know how to say it in English. Between here and the _más allá_ – the further away? The beyond here?" Mercedes exhaled sharply in frustration over her inability to find the exact word she wanted. "Sometimes those boundaries aren't as clear, yes?" Mercedes watched Evan's expression carefully for any sign of doubt or confusion on his part. "It always happened just before _Día de los Santos_, first November."

"Yes. I don't know exactly what to call it either and yes, that's when he could cross back to this side. I don't really know how all of it worked or how they managed to write to each other or anything really. Like I said, I made her my responsibility and if making sure she was on a certain ship, in a certain place, at a certain time, was what she needed, I did it. No questions asked."

"And now that responsibility is his?" Mercedes asked with a shy smile on her face.

"I suppose so. I guess I have to redirect my priorities now." Evan looked towards her and noticed the smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Her smile faltered for a moment. "Does that mean you'll be leaving here?"

Evan's stomach formed a knot as the realization hit him that his services may no longer be needed. His own smile faded away. "I don't know," he said somewhat bewildered. "I've never thought about it before. I suppose that will be up to Will."

"I don't want you to leave," Mercedes said shyly.

"I don't want to leave either," he replied as he stood up, still holding her hand. "I think it's time you turn in for the night. Aren't you doing the marketing with Mrs. Lansford in the morning? You know she likes to get an early start on that."

"Yes," she said as she too stood up, although it wasn't clear whether her response was an acknowledgement of the task she had scheduled for the morning or agreeing to Evan's unspoken request to walk her back to her room.

The young couple walked hand in hand around to the back of the house and the rear entrance to what had been built as servant's quarters, but had been refurbished and now served as extra bedrooms for the household or guests. The wing could now be reached from both inside the main house and its own door. Elizabeth was adamant that the wing never be referred to as "servant's quarters" after the remodeling was completed. In her view, it was now just an extension of the main house – Mercedes and Evan both had rooms there.

The details of the hallway were hidden in shadow. The only light was from the moon shining in through tall arched windows spaced every fifteen feet or so down the hall. The soft yellow glow of an oil lamp was barely visible at the far end where the addition met up with the original structure of the house. Mercedes' room was nearer to the main part of the house than Evan's. The rooms in between were empty as always – awaiting guests that never came.

"Listen," Mercedes whispered as they approached her door.

Evan stopped and did as she instructed. While the words remained indistinguishable, he could make out Will's voice interspersed with his son's and his wife's laughter with an occasional reversal of roles where it was clearly Will who was laughing.

"They sound so happy," Mercedes said after a few moments. "I didn't realize how rare that truly was around here until today."

Evan smiled at her in the growing dark. "I think we're all in for some changes for the better."

Mercedes hoped that Evan couldn't see her blush in the low light. She turned from him and opened the door to her room. She hesitated for a moment then turned back to him. "Will I see you in the morning? Before we leave for the market, I mean."

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice breaking ever so slightly from his own nervousness.

The two of them stood and stared at each other for a few minutes, both knowing what they wanted, but neither brave enough to make the first move – not after their failed attempt at a first kiss that morning.

"Good night," Evan mumbled as he quickly leaned in, kissed Mercedes' forehead, then quickly turned and headed back towards his own room - never once looking back at her.

"Good night, "she called after him, trying desperately to not allow her disappointment to show in her voice.

William lay on his back, in his own bed, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling and thought about his day. He remembered waking up very frightened that his father had once again, gone away. He should have known that he wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, but the dream he had had felt so real. He tried to remember the details, but couldn't. All he knew for sure was that he couldn't find his father and that scared him. But Papa hadn't left. He was still home; he and Mama had tucked him into bed not too long before, and he would still be here in the morning.

The ordeal with Mr. Tolliver hadn't helped his day either . William knew he had provoked his tutor more so than normal, but Papa was there to protect him. He was tired of his teacher implying or even outright accusing him and his mother of being liars. He had known perfectly well that the subject matter he had brought up during lunch was inappropriate. How many times had his mother told him that? And yet, he couldn't resist. He hadn't thought, until it was almost too late, that what he was saying might hurt his father. He certainly couldn't have foreseen Mr. Tolliver's impromptu resignation. At least Mama and Papa didn't seem too angry about that. Although, they had made it clear, later in the afternoon, that his formal studies would resume as soon as a replacement could be found, and furthermore, he would be required to read books of their choosing until that time. Something made him think that there wouldn't be adventure stories on his reading list, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

He had been all excited at the prospect of a free afternoon to spend with his father, surely his mother could find something to work on. Hadn't one of their ships recently made port? She needed to look over the manifests or something didn't she? But that wasn't to be the case either. His mother had made arrangements for the tailor to come fit his father for some new clothes. Much to William's dismay, Elizabeth had taken advantage of William's newly open schedule to have him measured for a new suit as well. There were few things he hated more than having to stand still while someone poked and prodded him and even occasionally stuck him with pins. It wasn't his fault that he could no longer button his coat quite right and his breeches were quickly becoming too short. Why should he be tortured because of something like that? But Papa had made it fun. He made funny faces at him when Mama was fussing over fabrics and colors. He rolled his eyes when she had tried to decide exactly what kinds of buttons, lace and whatever she wanted the tailor to use. Mama had looked at him sternly when he laughed too loudly, but had shown no sign of knowing what had tickled him quite so much. Then again, she _had _given Papa the same stern look at one point.

Afterwards, he had sat in the parlor with both of his parents as they once again explained to him that there were certain things about his family that weren't to be shared. If anyone asked where papa had been, he was just to say he had been at sea. If they asked the name of his ship, he could just say he either didn't remember or that papa changed ships frequently so he didn't know. He was not to mention the _Flying Dutchman_, the fact that his father had been gone for ten years, nor to claim to know any pirates – honorary uncles or otherwise, and he was most especially not to mention his Grandfather Bootstrap and what he did now. He had known almost since birth to not mention the small wooden chest that his mother had guarded so carefully, and although it was now gone, that rule was still in effect.

William yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open. Tomorrow he was going to spend the afternoon with Jonathan and Robert, but as far as he knew, his morning was now free or at least mostly so. _Maybe papa will spend some more time with just me, _he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Will sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with his hands locked behind his head and his long legs stretched out over the coverlet. He lazily scanned the room, for the first time really taking in the details. His eyes eventually came to rest on the small pile of clothes carelessly draped over the back of one of the chairs. It briefly crossed his mind to get up and put them away, but he just didn't feel like it. Besides, where would he put them? In all of Elizabeth's careful planning for his return she had neglected to allow space for him to store his belongings – not that he really had much of anything, but at some point he would have more than the clothes he had been wearing since his arrival and the lone outfit the tailor had completed.

The appointment with the tailor had been tedious at best. He smirked at the memory of Elizabeth's half-hearted scolding of William in an attempt to make him stand still while he was being measured. Had he been able to get away with it, Will would have squirmed too. He had forgotten how boring it was to stand perfectly still for what felt like hours on end while someone draped him with an endless assortment of hot, scratchy fabric – and then there were the pins. The only thing that had made it bearable was watching his son's reaction to his over exaggerated look of disgust at some of the things Elizabeth considered. Of course, Will had taken pains to ensure that Elizabeth didn't see him, but something made him think she had an idea what had been going on. If nothing else, the conspiratorial giggles exchanged between father and son were almost sure to give them away.

At no point had his wife asked his opinion on cut, color, or style. But then again, why would she? It wasn't as if he had ever had any desire to pay attention to current fashion and although during that last year they had lived in Port Royal he had been expected to dress befitting his newly acquired role as Elizabeth's fiancé, he had allowed her to guide his choices even then. It had worked well at the time, why shouldn't it work now? Besides, it wasn't as if he would have any idea what was considered fashionable now. _Ten years in the land of the dead will do that to you_, he thought wryly.

Will's eyes and thoughts drifted towards Elizabeth and her evening rituals. He should have been getting ready for bed himself, but he was instead taking the time to watch Elizabeth brush her golden blonde hair. It seemed like such a simple thing on the surface, but it was in truth, one of the endless little intimacies that they had been denied thus far in their marriage. He should have long since been well versed in her personal habits, but sadly was not. Will vowed to not take any of them for granted. He closed his eyes and found the memory of another time when he had watched her doing much the same thing.

Elizabeth could see Will's reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. To anyone else it might have appeared that he showed no emotion at all as he sat perfectly still with his eyes closed, but Elizabeth could tell what he was thinking. She had long ago, unplanned and unknowingly, learned all of Will's little quirks and cues that gave him away. Often during his time away she had wondered if things would have turned out differently for them had she gone with her instincts and followed her heart from the beginning – has she not always known she belonged with Will? But, as always, she had locked those thoughts away almost as quickly as they had escaped. What was done was done and there was no point in dwelling on it now.

In Will's mind, he could see Elizabeth brushing her hair as she was now, but instead of the privacy of their own bedroom, she had been in a cabin aboard the _Pearl. _It had been the first anniversary of their marriage, but that was not why he had been allowed to cross back for a few short minutes. That reason rested quietly in the cradle immediately to her right.

He distinctly remembered the conflicting emotions that had coursed through him at that moment; joy at the prospect of being a father; fear that he wouldn't know what to do; guilt at having left Elizabeth to have their child and now to raise him on her own; anger at the circumstances that kept them apart; and sadness at the knowledge he would, once again, have to leave not only his wife, but now his son as well. The one thing he was sure of was that he would never intentionally abandon his son the way that Bootstrap had abandoned him. He had already vowed to return to Elizabeth - their infant son only made him more determined to one day escape his obligation to the _Dutchman_.

"You're thinking about the night you first saw him, aren't you?" Elizabeth remarked, still watching him from the mirror. She began to braid her hair

Will smiled guiltily as he nodded in agreement. He then slowly opened his eyes to look at her. "Am I that transparent?"

Elizabeth turned in her seat to look at Will. "Only to me," she answered in a voice partway between serious and teasing.

"I'm trying not to think about what happened today," he confessed. "Leave it loose, I like it that way."

"I know," she replied, to both his statement and his request as she crossed her arms over the back of her chair and then rested her chin on them.

"Do you think they believed me?" He began to pick at a loose thread on his shirt.

"Why shouldn't they? Evan has always known." Elizabeth watched him carefully. She was sure that there was something entirely different he wanted to talk about, but could not yet tell what it was. His unconscious habit of looking for minute flaws in what he was wearing gave him away as surely as it did with his son, except with William it usually meant he was consciously _avoiding_ certain topics. With Will, it simply meant he had not yet worked out everything he wanted to say.

"And what about Mercedes? She certainly didn't act surprised and yet I don't think she knew."

"I don't know what to tell you about her. I'm sure Evan didn't tell her, and I'm just as sure she wasn't consciously aware of where you were. But sometimes she just seems to know things that defy logic. She's been with me nearly six years and I still can't quite get used to it." Elizabeth began to undo her braid as she watched him redirect his attention to the assorted talismans hanging from the cord about his neck and wondered what other thing he could possibly be thinking about. _Wasn't telling his story the worst of it?_

"You would think that after all we've seen, something like that wouldn't make you think twice," Will commented, half jokingly referring to Mercedes' unusual talent.

"So you would think." Elizabeth stood up, blew out the lamp on her dressing table, leaving only the two on the bedside tables still burning.

"I worry the most about Miss Mary." Will stood up with his back to the bed and began undressing.

"How so?" Elizabeth crossed the room towards her side of the bed, but never once took her eyes off of her husband. It was still hard for her to believe that they would share a bed _every_ night from now on. "I think she would forgive you and William most anything. If she weren't more than old enough to be your mother, I might have to get jealous."

Will grinned mischievously at Elizabeth, as he turned back around and caught her overt appraisal of him. Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and she quickly busied herself turning down the covers.

"But do you think she believed me?" Will asked. His question was serious, but his voice clearly indicated his amusement at Elizabeth's reaction.

Elizabeth looked up and met his eyes, her momentary embarrassment already gone. It wasn't as if he had never done the same to her, and they _were _married - had been for quite some time. It was just that they had seldom spent more than twenty-four hours together since they wed and there was still some lingering awkwardness between them.

"Yes, but I'm sure she will have more questions. She just won't ask them, but you should already know that she has a great respect for privacy. _You _will have to decide what else you want her to know and when." She turned down the wick in the lamp on her bedside table, leaving only the one on Will's side still burning bright enough to allow them to see. She had a feeling that they wouldn't be asleep for quite some time.

"And what does she know of you, your Majesty?" Will asked with a graceful bow.

Elizabeth raised one amused eyebrow at him as she crawled beneath the sheets and fluffed up her pillows. Somehow a bow lost some of its dignity when the person executing it was in his current state of complete dishabille. "She most certainly doesn't know about _that_! I just can't imagine explaining to her about the Brethren Court." She reached over and flipped down the covers on Will's side of the bed. "Any business matters between myself and my loyal subjects are conducted elsewhere," she announced haughtily and then began to laugh.

"_Loyal_ subjects?" Will joined his wife in the bed, this time laying flat on his back with his arms crossed across his chest. "Have you forgotten exactly who they are?"

"As loyal as any true pirate can be, which I suppose doesn't go far where recommendations are concerned." Elizabeth took one hand and brushed Will's hair out of his face. "They know better than to come here – to the house, I mean. If nothing else, they respect my wishes as far as my life is concerned," she said earnestly. "Jack and Barbossa have both come to Port Royal since my return, but I haven't seen either of them in months."

"And they're still fighting over the _Pearl_ after all this time." It wasn't a question.

"They'll be doing _that_ until the day they die," Elizabeth said with a sigh, as she slid down the pillows to lay her head on Will's chest.

Will slipped his arm around her and pulled her in closer. "Might I point out that they've both done that already? It just didn't take."

Elizabeth laughed then stopped as quickly as she had started, for fear of waking up William. "You do make an excellent point- but then again, so have you."

"True," he said, virtually without emotion.

Will buried his face in his wife's freshly brushed hair. He kissed the top of her head and drew a deep breath before continuing along the track of his conversation. "Speaking of ships…."

"What of them?" Elizabeth asked, silently relieved that she wouldn't have to bring up the subject of the family business on her own. She had resolved to let Will find his own way when he came back. She had no intention of forcing his attention where he did not want it – not that she could have, Will was just as stubborn as she was when he felt he was being pressured.

"Tell me about ours – we have more than one, right?"

"We have five right now – the _Aztec Gold, _which you know about already, the _Touch of Destiny_, the _Rules of Engagement,_ the _Corazón del Mar,_ and the _Soñador. _We have a sixth one being built, but it hasn't been named yet. I thought I might let you do that."

"And how did you – _we _come by owning so many boats?"

Elizabeth sat up and turned up the wick in the lamp on her side of the bed as she contemplated how to answer Will's question. It wasn't exactly a simple answer, and she had to decide how much she should tell him now and how much she should save until some other time. "I bought out half of your sister's company," Elizabeth said quickly with her back still towards Will.

"My sister's _what_?" Will asked confused. "How did she come by owning a shipping company? Bootstrap seldom had two pennies to rub together. He couldn't have set her up in business – not that he would - and I'm sure if her mother had left her anything, he would have long since have spent it."

"Her husband, the first one that is, owned Castillo shipping. When he died, she inherited it. Eventually I bought her out, but by that time we were already operating under the name Turner-Castillo so I kept it," Elizabeth said matter of factly as she lay back down and snuggled up against Will.

"Why do I get the distinct impression that the story isn't quite as simple as that?" Will tried to turn to see his wife's face, but she managed to keep her head down and away from him.

Elizabeth sighed. "Probably because there_ is_ much more to it, but now is not the time, and this is not the place. We have more important things to attend to at the moment."

"Do we?" Will's free hand drifted up to untie the neck of Elizabeth's night dress.

"Not _that_," Elizabeth sounded exasperated as she playfully slapped his hand away.

"Then what?" Undeterred, Will continued to let his fingers roam over his wife's body.

"Mr. Davidson." Elizabeth was relieved that Will had not pressed her for further information about his half-sister's sometimes - questionable business affairs - and most especially about her mother.

Will stopped what he was doing. "Who?"

"Mr. Davidson, the factor. That's why he was here today," Elizabeth said in disbelief. "Have you forgotten already?"

"I can't forget what I didn't exactly know. I know he was here, but what of it?" Will's confusion was growing by the second. "I take it he tends to conduct business elsewhere?"

"I think this is the first time he's ever come to the house." Elizabeth searched her memory for any confirmation of that fact. "It seems we have a ship missing. That never happens, or at least not to me – _us_ it doesn't."

"Elizabeth, it happens all the time. Have you forgotten that sometimes ships sink for no good reason? There's bad weather, they get off course, not to mention _pirates_."

Elizabeth raised up on one elbow and looked Will straight in the eye. "And exactly what pirate is going to go after one of _my_ ships?"

Will would have laughed if she hadn't been so serious, but she did have a point. Elizabeth was still the Pirate King, and as such her ships were safe from the Brethren. "What about weather?" Will was still a bit confused as to what all the fuss was about – a ship being delayed wasn't exactly news.

"There hasn't been any bad weather and, besides, we've been known to have some help in that arena too." Elizabeth used her forefinger to idly trace where the scar on Will's chest had been.

"Calypso?" He spoke so quietly that Elizabeth almost didn't hear him.

"Yes." Elizabeth shifted her position to lay with her chin resting on Will's chest this time, grateful that he had not asked for any further details about what had happened to his former brother-in-law either. Explaining exactly what kind of business he had been in, or how she had managed to acquire four, soon to be five, more ships in such a short period of time was going to be complicated at best. It also pained her to realize that Will still bore some emotional wounds from his ordeal that might never heal completely. "Before you offer any more unsolicited speculation of your own, perhaps I should tell you what I know."

Will nodded as he stroked one hand over Elizabeth's hair and down her back to rest on her hip.

"The _Aztec Gold_ and the _Corazón_ both made port in San Juan. The plan was for them both to sail back here together, but on the day before they were supposed to set sail, the captain of the _Corazón _claimed to have received instructions to detour by Isla Escondida before returning to Port Royal."

"That's where Rebecka lives, right?"

"Yes. And since that's happened before, no one thought anything of it."

"But?" Will traced his fingers back up Elizabeth's spine.

"On the way here, the _Aztec Gold_ spotted a signal fire on one of the uninhabited islands and assumed there were survivors of a shipwreck there and went to investigate. But they weren't – it was the crew of the _Corazán_. All of them – unharmed."

"It was pirates. I'm telling you," Will didn't sound overly convinced himself, because as Elizabeth had said earlier – who would dare anger the Pirate King?

Elizabeth quickly slipped one hand to Will's side – to the exact spot where she knew he was the most ticklish. "And I'm telling you it wasn't. Now do you believe me or do I have to take extreme measures?"

"I believe you," he said as he tried to wriggle away from her. "But who took the ship and why?"

"I have no idea. It's rather small, actually, and it was just carrying yard goods I had imported from England." Elizabeth pushed herself back up so she hovered over her husband – her long hair just barely grazing his chest.

"Not exactly the prime candidate to be commandeered by anyone," Will's voice sounded strangled as he fought the urge to laugh. Elizabeth was serious, but her hair was tickling him to the point of distraction. "Did it –" Will exhaled sharply. "Did it make it to Isla whatever the name is?"

"Escondida. And I have no idea." Elizabeth smiled slyly down at Will knowing full well what impact her actions were having on his self control.

"Surely someone asked the crew how they ended up on an island minus their ship." Will again tried to pull loose the ribbon that held Elizabeth's night dress closed, only to have his efforts foiled once again.

"According to Mr. Davidson, they claim that they were overtaken by another ship in the middle of the night." Elizabeth was thoroughly enjoying tormenting her husband.

"And they didn't put up a fight?" Will asked disbelievingly. "Even if the pirates leave you – _us_, alone, I can't believe they don't have at least some cannons."

"It was apparently even smaller than the _Corazón _and it was flying our colors, so they didn't take it as a threat. It was all over and done with rather quickly, I understand. The crew of the _Corazón _was safely deposited on the nearest uninhabited island, and that was the end of it." Elizabeth wrinkled her brow as she remembered another odd detail. "They were left with enough provisions to last them for a couple of weeks, at least."

"And they gave no other clues as to who did this?" Will could tell from Elizabeth's expression that there was at least one more oddity that she hadn't mentioned.

Elizabeth looked Will straight in the eyes, coming dangerously close to forgetting what they had been discussing before she finally spoke. "Someone mentioned Jack."

"_JACK?_" This time Will forgot what he had been doing. "Why would Jack want a ship as small as the _Corazón? _Especially if he still has the _Pear?."_

"She's fast. And I have no idea who the current captain of the _Pearl _is. I've learned it's much easier to not get involved in that." Elizabeth dropped her head and kissed him in an effort to remind him of his earlier train of thought.

"But there's only one ship that I know of that could catch the _Pearl_, and I'm reasonably sure it's _not_ currently available," Will said smugly.

"I never said it _was_ Jack, just that he was mentioned by the boarding party."

"Would he do something like that?" Will thought out loud.

"You should know better than anyone that it's perfectly pointless to try and understand Jack's motives," Elizabeth reminded him as she again danced her fingers over his ticklish spot.

"_Don't!_ Will blurted out, as he vainly tried to wrench himself from Elizabeth's grasp. "Does anyone on Escondida know anything?" Will pronounced the name of the island slowly. Es-con-di-da he said, breaking it up into syllables as he attempted to master the name.

"I sent a crew to go find out." She abandoned her plan of attack and traced her fingers back up and over Will's chest to his shoulders.

"And in the meantime?" Will took both of his hands and pushed Elizabeth's hair back.

"I suppose all we can do it wait." She pushed herself up enough to reach the lamp on Will's side of the bed and turned it as low as possible without extinguishing it, then repeated the process with her own.

"That's certainly something we're quite familiar with," Will said sardonically.

Elizabeth stared down at him. It was difficult to read his expression in the low light, but she could tell there was still something he wanted to tell her, something he had not yet said nor hinted at. But she also knew it would be a wasted effort to push him. If it was something important, he would tell her in his own time. She knew that, and could wait as long as he needed her to. _Haven't I done so already?_ She smiled softly as she dipped her head to kiss him again, but slower this time. "I love you," she whispered as she settled herself into the crook of his arm with her head once again resting on his chest.

Will lay there leisurely stroking Elizabeth's arm for a few minutes, enjoying the fact that he could now do something so simple for as long as he wanted, whenever he wanted. "Elizabeth?" he breathed.

"Mmm?" she responded sleepily.

Will took a deep breath and continued caressing his wife. "Nothing." He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too."


	17. Unexpected Gifts

Will's eyes snapped open. He had broken out in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard, and his heart felt as if it would beat right out of his chest. For several tense seconds he couldn't remember where he was, but he quickly reoriented himself and realized he was in his own bed, in his own room, in his own house. Will fought to calm himself from the nightmare as he turned his head to look at Elizabeth. He sent up a small prayer of gratitude that he had not awakened her with his shout and that she was still quite fast asleep.

Will lie on his back, staring into the darkness, trying to recall the details of the dream. It had been so vivid, seemed so real, and yet his memory of it was fading quickly. He could remember that he had been aboard the _Corazón, _but little else. The one thing he was now sure of was that he had seen the ship before.

It had been one of those unusual occasions when the _Dutchman _had arrived before its services were actually needed, something that didn't happen often but was always unsettling when it did for, it meant that someone aboard the ship was about to die. Even as the _Flying Dutchman _had drawn close to the ship, there had been no indication of who was on board. It was not a ship he had seen before, but it _was_ the very same _Corazón del Mar _that was now missing from their fleet. Elizabeth_ hadn't_ owned the ship then, and considering the reason he was there, he hadn't thought to ask who did. _Why didn't she mention that earlier? She couldn't possibly have forgotten._

He had been caught off guard when he suddenly found himself in a darkened cabin aboard the _Corazón_ – that was most certainly not how the process normally worked. The first thing he had been aware of was the smell of sweat, fear and sorrow mixed with the coppery stench of blood. The second thing was Elizabeth. He had panicked at first at the thought that she was the reason the _Dutchman _had been summoned, but he quickly realized his initial fear was unfounded. He could still picture her curled up on her side, crying inconsolably. _Why was she alone? Should not someone have been with her? _An icy chill washed over him as his purpose there became clear.

Will rolled over in the bed to face Elizabeth. She was lying so close to him that he could feel her warm breath on his face. He very much wanted to touch her, to wake her and to once again allow her to console him, but he could not bring himself to do it. It was a burden they had already and continued to share – what other comfort could she offer him now?

An uncharacteristic sense of foreboding gradually welled in Will's chest. Instead of his normally calm, collected demeanor, Will was growing quite anxious - almost on the verge of being agitated even. An overpowering need to see William surged to the forefront of his consciousness. He was unable and unwilling to fight back the compulsion to see his first born son.

_What prompted this?_

He lightly touched his lips to Elizabeth's forehead before ever so cautiously slipping from beneath the covers. He stood for a moment, to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness – the only source of light at the moment being the oil lamp on his side of the bed. He could just barely make out the breeches he had removed a few hours earlier, draped carelessly over the back of a chair. He mused over the fact that he was beginning to pick up some of his wife's less than perfect habits when it came to clothing and its care. _Will she even notice that?_ Will pulled the breeches from the chair back and stepped back into them. As he tied the cording at the waist, he considered also donning his shirt. William had not yet seen the scars on his father's back, and although they were nowhere near as pronounced as they once had been, he was not yet ready to explain to the boy how he came by them. _It's not like I'm going to wake him up, _he thought, leaving the shirt where it was.

With all the grace and fluidity of the skilled swordsman that he was, Will crossed the room to the doorway. He placed one hand flat on the door near the center edge and pulled gently at the handle. Despite his efforts, the door whined in protest at being opened. Elizabeth stirred in her sleep and mumbled something that could have been his name, but did not awaken. Will left the door partway open and stepped out in the darkness of the hallway.

Again, he stopped to allow his eyes to adjust to the change in light, noticing for the first time that his ability to see in almost total darkness was now gone. _Of all the talents I lost when I came back, that will perhaps be the one I miss most. _Will looked up and down the hall –not that he expected to see anything out of the ordinary, but his years of living just one step ahead of danger had made him overly cautious. All he could make out was the one lamp that sat on a table near the top of the stairs, while another glowed from a wall sconce halfway down the hall. He smiled, realizing that Elizabeth's apparent disregard for the expense involved in burning so many lamps, even while the household slept, was a vestige of her privileged youth. She had never had any cause to worry about the cost of such a luxury, while Will had been forced to make do with what was available. More often than not, that meant one lone candle, tallow at that – not the oil lamps and beeswax candles that Elizabeth had been used to— to illuminate his tiny living area. Any extra fuel was earmarked for the lanterns in the smithy, as he toiled long into the night. _How much more will I find that I should have adjusted to long ago?_

Will silently padded across the polished wooden floor to his son's tiny bedroom at the end of the hall. The only sound was that of his bedroom door not so silently drifting open even further. Once more, he repeated the process of trying to open the door with a minimum amount of noise and this time was rewarded with success. Another lamp placed on William's bedside table burned brighter than the other ones Will had noticed. _Is he afraid of the dark?_ Will leaned against the doorjamb and contently watched the rise and fall of William's blankets, sleeping peacefully unaware of his father's presence. He resisted the temptation to sit on the edge of the bed and brush his son's dark curls out of his face. The earlier panic that had threatened Will's reserve gradually abated now that he had assured himself that his son was in no danger. _Where had that fear come from?_ He continued to stand there and enjoy the simple pleasure of watching William sleep – something that Elizabeth had spent countless hours doing, but that had never been possible for him.

Elizabeth unconsciously tried to snuggle closer to Will. She slowly became aware that he was not where he should be. Her eyes flew open the second that her mind comprehended the problem. Her heart skipped a beat in panic, seeing the empty space next to her in their bed. She thrust forth one hand to touch the sheets on Will's side and sighed in relief to realize that they were still warm. She knew in her head that he would never leave her again, but her heart was, as yet, not quite as secure. She rolled over to bury her face in his pillow and inhaled his scent – it wasn't _quite_ the same as it had been when they were younger, but then again, their circumstances were a bit different now. She lay there quietly, expecting Will to return any moment and lamenting the fact that her husband no longer smelled of hot coals and iron.

The waiting quickly grew unbearable. Now that Elizabeth once again could afford the extravagance of being impatient, she was _not_ willing to wait. She sat up in the bed and surveyed the room. She halfway expected to see him sitting in one of the chairs by the hearth, staring off into nothingness, thinking of who knows what, but it was immediately apparent that Will was not in the room. Her eyes were drawn to a flickering light from the hallway, as she noticed the wide open door. _Where could he possibly have gone? _She flipped back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, squinting at the floor for slippers she knew she had left there. She then stood up, grabbed her wrapper, quickly belted it, and then headed in search of her wayward husband.

Even in the dim light, Elizabeth immediately recognized Will's familiar form standing in the doorway of their son's bedroom. _What _is _he doing now?_ A pleased smile spread across her face as she realized he was doing what she herself had done so many times before – watching over their sleeping child. Without a second thought, she moved down the hall to join the two most important people in her life, even if one of them was completely oblivious to her presence.

Will jumped as Elizabeth reached her arms around his waist and laid her cool cheek against his back. He had apparently been so focused on William that he had not noticed her approach.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered softly, resting one of his hands over hers. "I tried to be quiet."

Elizabeth lifted her head and kissed his shoulder blade. "You were too quiet," she chided playfully. "I missed having you next to me."

"I just wanted to see him," Will confessed, keeping his voice low, so as not to disturb their sleeping son.

"Would you like me to leave?" Elizabeth offered in a tone that told him she wouldn't mind _and_ that she understood his need to be there.

Will was very quiet for a moment. "No," he said, turning his head to the side towards the sound of her voice.

Elizabeth moved to the same side, so that she could see Will's face—making sure she did not release her hold on him— and smiled up at him. "He looks so innocent when he's sleeping, doesn't he?"

"Are you implying that he's not?" Will asked in mock horror.

"Not always – but I like him just the way he is."

"He's so small." The light from William's lamp reflected gold in his father's eyes.

Elizabeth chuckled quietly. "And I thought he was getting so big." She leaned her head into Will's shoulder as he put one arm around her and pulled her in close.

"I missed so much, didn't I?" Will observed sadly.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. "It couldn't be helped. He understands. He's a_ very_ remarkable little boy."

"Is he? It must be because his mother did such a fine job raising him."

Elizabeth caught the teasing undertone to Will's otherwise serious statement. "He's very much like his father," she added in a tone much the same as Will's. "_Perhaps,"_ she said thoughtfully, "that explains his occasional misadventures."

"How can that be? He hardly knows me." This time the undisguised hurt in Will's voice was clear.

"There's very little about you that he doesn't know," Elizabeth teased in an attempt to halt Will's declining mood. "I don't know how or why, but he has more than a few of your habits. Trust me, Will Turner, it's going to be a monumental task for you to live up to what he's made you out to be."

"Is that courtesy of his mother too?" Will's eyes twinkled with unspoken devilry.

"Not entirely," Elizabeth admitted. "Although I _may_ have been a contributing factor."

William's mother and father stood in the doorway for several minutes, arms wrapped securely around one another, not speaking, continuing to admire the boy they had never expected, had never planned on, but never once regretted.

"Will?" Elizabeth's voice was almost timid – she was unsure if now was the right time to make her wishes known.

"Mmm?"

"I…" She hesitated, nearly changing her mind.

"You what?" Will sounded intrigued. He couldn't remember a time when Elizabeth had been shy about letting him know what she wanted – or letting_ anyone_ know what she wanted, for that matter.

Elizabeth spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "I want to have another baby. I don't want him to be an only child." There. She had said it. There was no sense in waiting. _What good would it have been to get my hopes up and not have Will agree?_

Will didn't even flinch, but he didn't speak either. Yet Elizabeth knew what he answer would be, even before leaned down to trace a line of soft kisses from her temple down the side of her face.

"Yes," he said in a hushed voice into her ear. Will noticed that her breathing had quickened, much as it did when she was frightened.

"But what if…"

Will immediately understood her concern. "Don't worry about that," Will said with a faint crack in his voice.

"I still have nightmares." It was apparent that Elizabeth was fighting back tears. "What if I _can't_ have any more children?"

Will turned her to face him, wrapped both arms around her and held her tightly, rocking his wife back and forth, desperately trying to think of some words of comfort for her – words that he himself had craved just a short time earlier.

And then he remembered – he had the one thing, or things to be exact, which would alleviate all of her fears. "Where's my coat?" he blurted excitedly.

"What?" Elizabeth's voice was muffled as she still had her face buried in Will's chest, but she clearly sounded perplexed.

"My _coat_. Where is it? I have something to show you." His eagerness was beginning to invade his voice.

Elizabeth lifted her head, looked Will straight in the eyes with her brow furrowed in confusion. "In the armoire. Why?"

"You'll see." Will gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her back to their bedroom.

"The door!" Elizabeth pulled back on Will's hand, stopping his forward motion.

"What?" Will was at a complete loss as to what Elizabeth was talking about.

"William's door. I need to close it," she explained, releasing Will's hand and retracing her steps to their son's bedroom door.

Will watched her impatiently, but did not complain. He was tired of confined spaces and truly wouldn't have cared if all the doors stayed open, but apparently Elizabeth had other thoughts about that.

"Now what was this you wanted to show me?" Elizabeth inquired slyly, returning to her husband and again taking his hand in hers. Will simply grinned at her and led her back to their room.

Elizabeth turned up one of the lamps, removed her robe, then sat cross-legged on the bed, watching Will rummage through the pockets of his well-worn leather coat. _I can't believe he still has that thing. _Eventually he located what he was looking for – a small cloth-wrapped bundle that he handled almost reverently, as he walked back to the bed. He was without a doubt, quite cheerful about something. But _what_?

"I need you to trust me," Will said brightly, taking a seat on the mattress. He placed the mysterious package on top of the coverlet between them. He intently studied it for a few moments, trying to decide how to proceed. He smiled to himself, as he decided on his plan of attack.

Elizabeth had been caught off guard by Will's request. Of course she trusted him. She always had and she always would. She noticed he didn't seem to expect a response from her, or for that matter, didn't seem to be paying much attention to her at all, while he contemplated the slightly lumpy lace wrapped parcel. She noted with amusement that he had begun to chew his lower lip – something she hadn't seen him do in years. It was one of those frequently overlooked quirks she remembered him sometimes doing when he was thinking.

Will placed one hand on top of the almost insignificant bundle and the other on Elizabeth's neck, pulling her towards him and kissing her soundly. Elizabeth responded with equal enthusiasm even though he had taken her by surprise.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly, pulling back just far enough to speak.

"Do I _need _a reason?" he teased, his lips brushing hers again.

"No, of course not. And you _know _I trust you," she breathed, leaning further into him.

Will broke off the kiss before things could progress much further, but remained with his face almost touching Elizabeth's. Both of them kept their eyes closed, listening to each other breathe for a moment. Will gave her one more quick kiss and then returned his attention to the gifts that Elizabeth had been sent from the other side. He remained perfectly quiet as he tenderly unfolded the lace handkerchief to reveal the contents inside.

Elizabeth audibly gasped as soon as she saw the delicate pearl earrings nestled in the fabric.

"Those were my mother's." She fought to control the sadness, confusion and fear in her voice.

"Yes." Will's reply was so soft that Elizabeth nearly missed the fact that he had spoken. He kept his eyes focused on the precious heirlooms lying on the bed – suddenly unsure of how Elizabeth was going to react to the answers he would soon have to give to her inevitable flurry of questions.

Elizabeth reached forward and tentatively touched the earrings. "They match my necklace – the one I was wearing at our…the one I gave you before you left me."

Will lifted his gaze to take in Elizabeth's face and the confusion that registered there.

"I thought," she choked on her words, "I thought she was buried with them." Her head snapped up to look at Will directly. "How did _you_ get them? _When _did you get them?" Only the tiniest quiver in her voice betrayed the apprehension she felt about learning the answer.

Will reached up and delicately ran his fingertips down the side of her face before resting his open palm on her cheek. He took a deep breath and slowly released it before answering.

"I saw her, in the land of the dead, the day I came back—your father too. She recognized the pendant I had – _have—_and insisted I bring these back to you. She said you would know what to do with them."

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, contemplating what Will had said. Somehow this did not make sense.

"But my mother didn't die at sea, she died in childbirth." She sounded puzzled at the prospect of Will's duties having been slightly different than what she had imagined.

"I know. Everyone moves on to the same place no matter how they died. Just don't ask me to explain it any more than that right now – I can't yet."

Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes, but not all of them tears of sorrow. She gave Will a half smile, then picked up the earrings and held them in the palm of her hand. "She almost always wore them. When I was a little girl, I asked her if I could have them one day. She promised me she would give me the set to wear at my wedding." She stumbled slightly at the mention of their first wedding day. "She…" A slow grin began to spread across Elizabeth's face, leaning in to rest her forehead against Will's. "She told me to use the earrings to have two other necklaces made – one for each of my daughters." Elizabeth closed her fingers over the earrings, simultaneously closing her eyes. "Was she right?"

"I don't know. Even had I guessed that's what she meant, she wouldn't – _couldn't _tell me that. We just have to take it on faith."

"How would you feel about that? Having two daughters, I mean?" The sparkle in Elizabeth's voice was beginning to return.

Will grinned at her. "I'm not sure I could survive two more just like you." He thought for a moment. "And I don't want to be the one to tell William that he might get two little sisters instead of any brothers." He chuckled softly.

"Was my brother with them?" Elizabeth asked abruptly.

Will jerked back –his eyes wide and his brow knit in confusion. "You had a _brother_?"

"The one who died with my mother." Elizabeth was strangely calm. Will's answer would tell her whether or not she should pursue her next question.

Will glanced away, but not before Elizabeth could catch the wariness in his eyes. It was painfully evident to her that he knew where she was headed with this particular topic. The same thing must have been on her mind as much as his, tonight.

"No." He continued to look away for a moment then turned to meet her eyes. "Children…babies – go somewhere else, some place special, I think. At least, that's what I want to believe." He looked up towards the ceiling, trying to collect his thoughts before he continued. "I don't know exactly how that part works. Bootstrap took care of that – I couldn't…I just couldn't do it."

"Will," Elizabeth whispered, reaching up to stroke his hair.

"I want to believe that any children that have gone on before would be there waiting, but the truth is that I just don't know."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to cause you any grief." She smiled softly at him. "I don't know if I could bear it this time, if something were to go wrong."

"But you're willing to take that chance?" Will stared into her eyes, looking for any signs of hesitation or doubt.

She smiled at him and wrinkled her nose as she spoke. "More than anything." It was impossible to miss the confidence in her voice.

"Then done."

"Not done. At least, I don't think so—not yet anyway," she said impishly. "Soon, perhaps."

Will's narrowed his eyes for a moment before he understood her meaning and began to laugh.

"Shhh, you'll wake William," she hissed. "Now tell me what those other two lumps in that piece of cloth are. I'm dying of curiosity."

Will picked up the square of yellowed lace and rested the bulk of it in his palm, pulling back the fabric with the other hand. The first piece he revealed was the heavy silver ringed cross that his mother had given him – the garnet in the center looked more black than red in the low light.

"This belonged to my mother. She told me it has been passed down from mother to daughter in her family for generations; but since she never had a daughter –" Will shrugged his shoulders. "She made sure I knew it was to go to the _eldest _one – I suppose that means William and I should resign ourselves to the fact that we might be outnumbered some day?" Will accompanied his question with one raised eyebrow.

"So it would seem," Elizabeth agreed, putting her mother's earrings back where they had started and cautiously picking up the cross with its heavy silver chain. "And what other trinket do you have in there?"

Will again pulled back an edge of the handkerchief and revealed the tarnished luckenbooth broach.

Elizabeth put the cross back in Will's hand and picked up the pin. "I've seen one of these before, but I have no idea what it is."

"She said it was a luckenbooth brooch. It's a tradition in Scotland for the groom to give it to his bride on their wedding day, and then later pin it on the first born child's blankets, or something like that –I don't remember what she said exactly. I think it's supposed to bring good luck or ward off evil spirits, maybe? I really don't know," Will explained.

Elizabeth held it up to her nightdress to see how it would look. "It's a little late for both of those things, don't you think?"

"It would be if it were meant for you," he answered devilishly. "It's for William, for when he finds someone he loves as much as I love his mother and decides to marry her."

Elizabeth blushed like a new bride at Will's words. She leaned forward and kissed his lips ever so softly. "Thank you, "she said, returning the last gift to its wrapping.

Will carefully refolded the antique lace around their family treasures. He then unfolded himself from his seated position on the bed and stood up, while looking for a place to keep them. For the first time, he noticed that nowhere in the room did he have a place to put anything of his own – not his clothes, not even his other belongings – not that he had any yet. The room was entirely Elizabeth's. He couldn't fault her for that. It wasn't as if she was used to sharing a living space with anyone.

"Is something the matter?" Elizabeth asked, noticing Will's contemplative evaluation of the room.

"I think that I have less furniture here than I did living in the smithy." He sounded distinctly amused by that fact. "I at least had a trunk there," he added, eyeing the one resting at the foot of the bed.

"Here," Elizabeth said with mock exasperation, unfolding herself to stretch across the bed to the night table on Will's side. "This will do for a start." She pulled open the drawer and flipped up the false bottom, revealing the small cavity beneath it.

Will raised an eyebrow at her as he mindfully secured the heirlooms in the hiding space and closed the drawer. He then sat next to Elizabeth on the bed as she rolled over onto her back, nestled her head into his pillows and stared at the ceiling.

"Do they know about him?" Elizabeth asked tremulously.

"Our parents? About William?" Will turned his upper body towards Elizabeth and bent over her with his left hand resting near the edge of the bed and the other to the far side of Elizabeth's body. He looked down at her, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Yes, I told them," he said quietly, then grinned. "I still don't think I'm one of your father's favorite people," he added facetiously.

Elizabeth opened her eyes wide in feigned shock and smiled slyly up at Will. She slowly ran her hands up his chest before clasping them around his neck and pulling him to her. "And why would that be?"

Will sighed heavily. "When I told your parents about William, your father just assumed that we – that _I _had…besmirched your honor, so to speak, and – I'm sure you can imagine the rest."

"And how did my mother react to that possibility?"

"I don't think it really mattered to her – as long as that was what you had wanted and you were happy—You're very much like her, aren't you?" Will reached up to unlock Elizabeth's hands from behind his neck and then swung around to lie in the narrow space between her and the edge of the bed – dangerously close to falling onto the floor.

"My father used to tell me that. I always thought he meant I looked like her. I don't really remember her very well." Elizabeth moved over to allow Will more room, but refused to relinquish the pillow.

"You do look very much like her. I thought she _was _you when I first saw her." Will rolled onto his left side to face Elizabeth. He ran his thumb across her lips. "That frightened me."

Elizabeth pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead. "Did you let my father know he was wrong – that I _did_ marry you _and_ with my virtue still intact?" Elizabeth giggled at the image of Will explaining the circumstances of their somewhat hasty nuptials to her over protective, but indulgent father.

"I didn't go into _that _much detail, but yes, I assured them that William was conceived on the right side of the blanket." Will tried to keep his face completely serious, but the mirth in his eyes gave him away.

Elizabeth lightly punched Will's arm. "An interesting choice of words– considering…" Memories of that night flooded her senses.

"It's just a figure of speech, and besides, it's true – in more ways than one," he yawned.

"And how did they take that?"

"Your mother seemed pleased, your father was more relieved than anything, I think. I 'm not sure he was exactly overjoyed at the how and where of it, though –our wedding that is, not...the other." Elizabeth's amusement was beginning to match Will's. "If it had been possible, I'm sure he would have had a fit of apoplexy," he mused, stifling yet another yawn.

"I miss them."

Will pulled his wife closer to him and rested her head under his chin in an effort to comfort her – and maybe even himself too. "I know you do. I wish they could have met William and seen how well you've done for yourself." Will yawned again – longer this time.

Elizabeth rolled away just long enough to douse the lamp she had turned on earlier, then returned to her previous position curled up against her husband, with her head tucked under his chin. "Will?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

Elizabeth felt more than heard his response. "Are you asleep _already_?" Elizabeth was bemused and perhaps a bit disappointed too.

The only response she received this time was the sound of Will's rhythmic breathing as he drifted further into sleep.

The first tentative rays of light were just beginning to peek over the horizon, as Will stood at the railing and stared off into the distance. A light breeze skimmed across the open water, teasing the loose tendrils of his hair. He focused on the shimmering haze that marked the spot where Jamaica would soon become visible. From that point, it would just be a few short hours until he arrived back in Port Royal – _home_—where the rest of his family waited. And while he sometimes missed the smell of the salt air and the gentle roll of the sea beneath his feet, he would always miss them more. He was at a loss as to why he had not brought them with him on this voyage. It wasn't as if there was any danger, and even if there was, it wouldn't have given Elizabeth a second thought. _Next time, definitely._

Thinking of his wife, he realized precisely how accurate she had been in her description of the _Corazón del Mar – _it was a small ship compared to what he was used to, having only two masts rather than the three he was more familiar with, but it was quite seaworthy nonetheless. At first he had wondered why she had kept the ship as part of their fleet; between the necessary provisions and the guns, there wasn't all that much room left for cargo. But then again, perhaps its relatively diminutive size made it less appealing to rogue pirates, privateers, and the like. However, it was the only one of their ships that had ever gone missing – now it had been found. And while the ship and its armature were still in excellent condition, the shipment of yard goods was missing – certainly not the kind of thing that would interest most brigands. This oddity piqued Will's curiosity, but only mildly so.

He suddenly realized that a ship of this size and speed would be ideal for smuggling, something that _would _make it rather appealing to a certain class of merchant—t he kind that liked to cut out the middle man, as it were. If that were the case, then why had the ship been abandoned? And with an empty hold no less. In fact, there was no sign there had ever been anything in the hold at all. A sense of horror surged through him as it belatedly occurred to him that smuggling was what Elizabeth used this ship for. She wouldn't do that, _would_ she_?_ Once upon a time, she had embraced a life of piracy, but only out of necessity. Surely she was past that now.

Will turned to say something to his First Mate, only to discover that no one was there. _Had not he been standing here just a moment before? _He looked about the deck and up into the riggings. As far as he could tell, he was the only person on deck at the moment and while the wind and weather seemed to be cooperating at the moment, he had long ago learned to never trust the sea. For that reason alone there should have been men standing by to take action, should some difficulty arise. Granted, he had only employed the bare minimum in the way of a crew to sail the ship back to Port Royal, but for them all to be below decks at the same time was just unheard of. He snorted in disgust as he resolved never to hire these particular sailors for any of their ships in the future. It wasn't as if there was a shortage of men to choose from. Even pirates were more cautious.

Will turned back to the water and watched his home creep closer and closer with agonizing slowness. He gave a half-hearted smile as he realized that he was suffering from a bout of uncharacteristic impatience. Elizabeth would certainly find that amusing. He missed her terribly, he missed William, and he missed… the thought was gone almost as quickly as it had come. Again, he wondered why he hadn't brought them with him. Elizabeth would have been more useful than his seemly inattentive crew. Had he not been anxiously anticipated the chance to teach William about sailing for weeks now? How could he not have seen that this relatively short jaunt would have been the ideal time to get started?

The preternatural quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps on deck. Expecting to see one of the missing crew members, Will spun on his heels, ready to deliver a sharp reprimand for abandoning their post. Instead, he found himself face to face a small boy that had emerged from the shadows like a ghost.

"It's broke. Can you fix it?" a teary eyed boy asked, holding out a carved wooden ship in one hand and a miniature mast and sails in the other.

Will gazed lovingly at the boy for a moment. _How long has it been since I've seen him? _"I'll see what I can do," he said quietly, picking the child up and seating him on a barrel. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked, ruffling the boy's dark curls. Will noticed that although his hair curled like his own, it was much lighter in color. A pair of ice blue eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, set in a pale, angelic face, stared back at Will, as the child thrust forth a pitiful tangle of string and fabric that had been his toy's mast and sails. _He reminds me of his mother._ Will smiled, his agile fingers deftly untangling the string and reattaching the mast to the ship while the boy watched. It was a far simpler task than it appeared.

"Are you going to see Mama today?" The boy looked off into the distance and gestured with his head towards the spot on the horizon where Jamaica should appear shortly. "She lives there too, doesn't she?" he asked, suddenly sounding a bit unsure of himself.

"You know I am," Will answered softly, wondering why the boy might think his mother was someplace other than Port Royal.

"Can you take me too? I want to see her. "

"You know that's not possible." Will's voice was filled with regret and sadness, the toy boat now completely forgotten.

The boy's expression matched Will's tone only briefly before a bright childish smile spread across his face. "It's my birthday, isn't it? I'm five today." He held up all the childishly chubby fingers of one hand to emphasize his accomplishment.

"Yes—yes, you are," Will confirmed with a smile, belatedly remembering the toy and handing it back to its owner.

The boy cast his eyes downward, accepting the boat. "Does she remember me?" He gave the impression that he feared Will's answer.

"Your mother?" Will leaned in to touch his forehead to that of the boy. "You know she does. And I'm sure she misses you very much. She would tell you that herself if she could. She loves you."

The boy turned his face back up to Will's, his eyes, so much like eyes Will once knew, glittered thoughtfully. "When you see her, tell her I love her too." He set the toy down on the barrel and put one small hand on each of his Will's cheeks as he stared at him, apparently trying to memorize what he looked like.

Will remained perfectly still, allowing the child time to memorize his face, if indeed that was what he was doing. He wondered if the boy even knew what his mother looked like. It seemed unlikely that he had any memories of her at all, given the circumstances of their parting.

"Will I ever get to see her?" The boy's voice was shy, almost hesitant, but the question was still enough to startle Will.

Will nodded, blinking back unexpected tears. "Yes, but not for a very long time."

"Are you sure she'll know who I am? What if she doesn't remember me?" His brow creased with worry and he looked as if he was about to cry again.

Will wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly to his chest in an effort to comfort him. _Will I be able to do the same for William one day? _"She will," he whispered, "she could never forget you and I'm sure she would recognize you anywhere." He freed one hand and stroked the back of the boy's hair. "I didn't forget you, did I?"

"No, sir, but…"

"But what? I can promise you that she will always remember you. You can trust me on that."

The boy pulled back from Will and nodded in acknowledgement. An impish smile crept across his face. "Can you show me where you live?" He raised his arms in preparation to be picked up.

"You know where I live," Will teased.

"But I want _you _to show me."

"That doesn't sound like an unreasonable request." Will smiled, lifting the boy off the barrel, then taking his small hand in his much larger one and leading him to the railing of the ship.

The boy peered out over the water, squinting in the bright sunlight. "I can't see it," he complained.

Will pointed off into the distance. "Do you see that shimmering light way out there? That's where Jamaica will appear soon, and then we'll sail around it until we get to Port Royal." His explanation was patient and gentle.

"I can't go there, can I?" It was evident that he was resigned to that fact already, but the reality of it made him sad.

Will took a deep breath and slowly released it in a vain attempt to quell the sense of impending loss and despair welling up inside him. "No," he said, hardly above a whisper, "you can't."

The boy looked up at Will and squeezed his hand. "I know," he conceded. "Please don't let it make you sad. It's all right. I understand, really, I do."

Will nodded his head in response to what the boy had said, but continued to stare out over the water. He was afraid that if he looked down at the child that his emotions would break free. Then where would he be? There was nothing he could do to change the situation, and there was no point in upsetting the boy further. No matter what happened next to Will, the little boy by his side would not be part of it.

The boy sidled up closer to Will and rested his head against his side. He stood quietly as he too, stared off in the same direction as Will.

"Can I stay here?" the boy asked unexpectedly. "On the boat?"

Confusion flashed across Will's face. "Do you want to?" Will's voice was hesitant. Surely this is the last place the boy would want to be.

"Yes. It's not as sad for me here. I like that," he said, sounding remarkably adult for a five-year old.

"Then I suppose that would be fine." Will looked down at the boy, knowing what would soon happen. "If you're sure that's what you want?"

The boy nodded. "It's time for you to go now, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready," Will said uncertainly.

"But you have to. You can't stay here anymore. This isn't where you belong. You have to go back to where you're needed most."

Will winced in pain. How many times in his life had he been forced to choose between two people he cared about? He knew the boy was right, but that did nothing to ease the sorrow of leaving him behind again.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" the boy asked confidently.

Will once again nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around the boy and hugging him tight. He couldn't bring himself to answer the question out loud.

"Goodbye. I love you." He released Will's hand and returned to the barrel to retrieve his toy.

Will watched, unable to speak.

The boy looked at Will curiously for a moment, as if deciding what to say. "I think I would have liked to have a brother," he announced and then turned towards the shadows from which he had emerged.

"_Wait_!" Will called as he chased after him. There had to be a way for them to be together. Perhaps if he could find Calypso she could...

"Will," Elizabeth hissed, shaking him hard. "Wake up!"

For the second time that night, Will bolted awake with only a vague but unsettling memory of what he had been dreaming. "Elizabeth," he gasped, his voice fraught with confusion and inexplicable sorrow, while reaching out with his hand for something he could not quite grasp.

"Shhh, it's all right," she whispered, gently brushing his hair out of his face, noticing that he was breathing hard and kept his eyes tightly shut. "It was just a bad dream. It will all be gone in the morning." The tension in his face began to recede at the sound of her voice, but he made no effort to acknowledge her. She was torn between making sure he was completely awake and trusting that her words had released him from whatever thoughts or memories had disturbed his slumber. She watched him carefully for a moment, looking for any sign that he had slipped back into his nightmare. Assured that he had been released from his whatever fear has assailed him in his sleep, she nestled herself back into the crook of his arm. Resting one open palm on his chest, she could still feel his heart pounding wildly, his breathing quickly calming as they both drifted back to sleep.

Author's note: If you have not yet read _Waiting_ there are parts of this chapter that may make little to no sense. It might not be a bad idea to go back and read it if you haven't already done so.

And……for those of you who haven't noticed yet, I have another series started titled _Just As I Promised_ which is my take on what happened during Will and Elizabeth's one day together. EC


	18. Play Date

William sat on the edge of his bed and contemplated his plans for the day. He had already washed and dressed in anticipation of what adventures might be in store. Under normal circumstances, someone would have long since come to get him to have his breakfast and then start his lessons. However, on this particular morning that was not going to happen, for Mr. Tolliver, his much-despised former tutor, was no longer welcome in the Turner's home – due to an unexpected turn of events for which William was quite grateful. William wondered if his mother would allow him a virtually unheard of morning off or if she would start schooling him herself immediately. He much preferred the former, but feared it would more likely be the latter -most especially since he had played a part in provoking his tutor to lose control and in turn, lose his post.

William hopped off the bed and crossed his room to once again peer out the window and assure himself that the weather for the day was ideal for his afternoon plans. With any luck, his mother would be preoccupied with his father, and allow William, along with Jonathan and Robert Cavanaugh, to escape her watchful eye. William loved his mother very much, but _sometimes _she could be a bit over protective. Perhaps now that his father was home that would change. He could always hope, couldn't he?

Deciding there was nothing better to do than to go have breakfast, he headed downstairs to find Miss Mary, who would surely find him something to eat that his mother would _not _approve of. He paused at the top of the stairs to listen at the closed door to his parent's bedroom. Not hearing any sounds and noticing the pitcher still full of water, sitting immediately outside the door told him that they were most likely still asleep. In fact, they had slept late every morning since his father had come home – a pattern that William was not too fond of since it took away from the time he had to spend with him. He knew he should just be patient, they would come downstairs eventually, but he had waited his _entire _life to meet his father and now wanted to make every minute count. He sighed dramatically as he turned towards the stairs and began to make his way to the kitchen.

"Good morning, William," Mary greeted him without looking up from the bowl she was stirring.

"How did you know it was me?" William asked in wide eyed astonishment.

Mary Lansford tapped her wooden spoon on the side of the bowl and then set it on the table top as she turned to look at William standing in the doorway. "Who else would be creeping into my kitchen looking for something he probably shouldn't have?"

"Just me," William giggled as he climbed onto one of the tall stools next to the worktable, which was covered with the detritus associated with cooking.

Mary picked up a towel and began wiping her hands clean. "What would you like? And no, you're not having cake."

The hopeful expression on the boy's face melted away at that. He sniffed at the air for a moment before he made his decision. "Bread – with honey and some tea, please."

"That wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I just took a loaf out of the oven, would it?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly, obliging his request.

William smiled innocently in answer to her question. "Did you really know my papa when he was little?"

"He was a bit older than you when I first met him, but yes, I did." She smiled at the memory of the boy's father as a teenager. She slathered honey on the bread and passed it to William.

"What was he like?" William's question was muffled by the oversized chunk of bread he had stuffed into his mouth.

"You look like him, but I suppose you've been told that." Mary retrieved her spoon in preparation for continuing her earlier task, but did nothing but hold it in front of her.

William nodded. "Mama always tells me that." He stretched his neck to peer at the contents of the bowl. "What are you making?"

"Cake. He was as quiet as you are talkative. He worked hard too. He always did his very best no matter what the task or the circumstances." Mary stopped as an image formed in her head of Mr. Brown drunk, slumped in a chair, rum bottle loosely clutched in one hand as Will slaved away at the forge. "_And _was always so very serious – he always tried to do what he thought was right. It didn't matter if anyone else thought it was or not. But what I remember the most clearly is that there was always a sense of sadness about him, what with him being an orphan and all. He was far too young to be all alone in the world like he was." Mary shook her head as if to dispel some unpleasant thought.

"But Papa wasn't an orphan. Grandpa Bootstrap was…" William fell silent as he realized he was on the verge of breaking one of the rules his parents had reiterated to him just the night before. "Papa just hadn't found him yet," he amended.

Mrs. Lansford regarded him mildly as wondered what William had been going to say and why he referred to his grandfather Turner as _Bootstrap._ It sounded…well, it sounded rather pirate like in her opinion, but considering what else she had learned of Will the previous day, _nothing _would really shock her at this point. She began stirring the concoction in the bowl once again.

William stared at the table as he picked at his breakfast. "I think  
Papa thought my grandfather was dead by the time he came here, so it would make sense for him to be sad," he offered cautiously hoping that he hadn't said too much.

Mary reached over with her free hand and ruffled his soft, brown hair in reassurance that whatever he had let slip was safe with her. "He wasn't always sad. I remember how his face would light up when he saw your mother. They were both so young then," she said wistfully.

"Did you know Mama too?" He continued to toy with his food – not completely recovered from his near miss with the rules.

"I knew who she was and saw her quite often, but I never actually met her until she came back here with you. Since she was the Governor's daughter, she did not have much occasion to associate with those of us in the working class. It's a miracle she and your father got to know each other at all." She smiled at William. "_Then_ who would I have had to spoil when his mother wasn't looking?"

William grinned back at her and then took another bite of his breakfast. "Miss Mary?" William's voice was hesitant. "Do you believe what my papa told you yesterday? About why he was gone?"

Mary had halfway expected this conversation, just perhaps not quite so soon. She pressed her lips together and looked William straight in the eye. "I suppose his tale does sound a tad far-fetched, but yes, I believe him." _And I also believe there is more to it than what's he's shared. _"But I'm sure your mama and papa told you not to tell anyone else – most people _wouldn't_ have believed it."

"Yes, ma'am." He stuffed the remaining bit of bread in his mouth and licked the honey off of his fingers. He chewed thoughtfully for a bit before continuing. "They explained to me again last night why I can't tell, but I've always known _that._" He rolled his eyes. "It's just nice to know there is someone other than Mama to talk to about it." He tilted his head to one side, looking at the woman who served as his surrogate grandmother. "Tuesday was the first time that I ever got to spend more than a few minutes with Papa."

Mary's heart twisted in her chest. Until William had said it out loud she hadn't given much thought to the reality of Will's relationship with his son. She silently cursed whatever heathen deity had caused William to spend his first nine years without the father he clearly adored and vice versa. "I'm sure your father will do whatever he can to catch up that time with you," she offered. Another thought crossed her mind. "Didn't Evan know where your father was and why?"

"Yes, ma'am. And I think my Aunt Rebecka knows too." William put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

Mary's eyes widened with surprise."Your _Aunt _Rebecka? I know your mother was an only child, and I just assumed your father was too." She again removed her wooden spoon from the bowl, but this time she passed it to William.

"She's his half-sister. I don't think he knew her either- or he forgot. I'm not sure which. Grandfather Bootstrap is her father too." He eagerly began to lick the batter off the spoon, but took care to not spill any on his clothes – that would certainly give away to his mother what went on during his secret forays into the kitchen.

_Bootstrap. _There was that name again, but no matter how curious she was about it, her instincts, and her respect for Will's family kept her from pumping the boy for more information. In time, perhaps someone would slip or explain, but now was not the time.

William finished licking the spoon, hopped off the stool and went to the basin where Mrs. Lansford washed all the dishes and dropped it in. He dunked his hands in the cold water and rubbed them vigorously to remove all the sticky honey and batter drips that now covered them.

"I'm going to go play with Brigand now. I think he misses me."

"Might I suggest that you go put something on your feet _other _than your best shoes? I can't imagine your mother would relish the idea of you chancing the dog chewing on those."

William looked down at his feet startled. "I guess I forgot I didn't have to dress nice today since I don't have any lessons – or at least I don't _think_ I do. That might change when Mama wakes up."

"You'll just have to see, now won't you? Now go."

William paused at the top of the stairs and took note of the water pitcher still in the same place next to the door, but this time he could hear the low rumble of his father's voice and his mother's accompanying laughter. He briefly considered knocking on the door, but then he remembered the threat of morning lessons under the watchful eye of his mother and thought better of it.

Upon reaching his own room, he sat on the bed and thought of his mother as he changed his shoes. He knew that she had missed his father terribly and sometimes had cried over the silliest things, but he had never really thought of her as sad – at least he hadn't until today. Hearing her frequent laughter, and watching the look on her face when she looked at his father made him realize that she _had _been _very_ sad. He decided he liked the changes in her, and wondered what life would have been like if his father hadn't had to go away. Surely he would have had a younger brother or two. Even a sister might not have been so bad. He would never have admitted it to his friends, but he was more than a little jealous that they all had siblings. Being an only child was nowhere near as much fun as they seemed to believe.

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him to attention. He jumped up, dashed out of his room and down the hallway on a collision course with his parents. Fortunately for his father, he quickly assessed his son's trajectory and crouched down to greet him face to face. William flung his arms around his father's neck with enough force to almost cause Will to lose his balance.

"Good morning, Papa. I thought you would never wake up."

"Good morning to you too," Will said laughingly as he took one finger and wiped a smear of honey from William's face. He raised one eyebrow in curiosity as he perused his find. William released his hold on his father and began to scrub at his face with one hand in hopes that there were no more tell-tale signs of his breakfast or cake batter.

"And what about me? Am I no longer to enjoy good morning hugs from you?" Elizabeth too, sounded amused.

"Good morning, Mama," William said, spinning around and hugging his mother about the waist.

"I'm going to guess from the smears on your face that you've already had your breakfast?" Elizabeth asked as she too wiped a honey smudge from his cheek.

"Yes, ma'am. I was going to go outside and play with Brigand now – that is if I may?" He sounded both hopeful and doubtful at the same time.

"I'm sure that will be fine," she looked at Will. "But only for a little while. Since you're going to spend the afternoon with the Cavanaugh boys I think you should at least spend a little time on your studies this morning."

Will opened his mouth to comment, but quickly changed his mind.

William looked pleadingly at his mother, then at his father, thinking that perhaps his chances were better there. "Do I _have _to?" He wasn't whining precisely, but he was teetering towards that edge.

Will shrugged his shoulders. "If your mother says so, then that's the way it has to be. She knows more about this kind of thing than I do," He redirected his gaze to Elizabeth. "For now," he added.

"I promise I won't work you too hard today," Elizabeth offered by way of compromise. "So why don't you run play with the dog, and I'll send your father to get you when I'm ready. How does that sound?"

"I suppose." He sounded less than enthused, but knew that there were no other options for him. William then sighed loudly and dramatically, in the way that only nine-year old boys can, and headed back down the stairs.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­William sat at the desk with his head resting in his hands, trying to force himself to stay focused on the reading assignment his mother had given him. After realizing that he had read the same paragraph at least three times, he glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. _Surely it's time to go. _ His mother had set two o'clock as the time they would leave, but it was beginning to feel like it would never get here. He groaned in disbelief as he read the time – one thirty-five, exactly five minutes had passed since he had last looked. _That can't be right._

He looked back at his book and tried to find his place. It took all the concentration he could muster at the moment, but he managed to read one more paragraph before his mind began to wander again. He resisted the temptation to watch the clock some more, and instead counted the number of pages he had left to read. _Only five left, I can do that._ Under normal circumstances, five pages would have required little to no effort on his part – he loved to read. In fact, sometimes his friends accused him of reading too much, but today was not a normal day as far as William was concerned. _Reading _was the last thing on his mind today. What he wanted most was to spend some more time with his father, but he was old enough to understand that his parents had lots of things they needed to talk about before too many people knew his father was back. That still didn't make him like it any better though.

Without thinking he glanced up at the clock again. One forty now. _Twenty minutes and six pages_ _to go_. He bent his head back to his book and again tried to focus on what was printed on the page. Two more pages went down quickly before his mind began to wander again, this time to earlier in the morning when he had been outside playing fetch with his dog. As his mother had said, his father came to bring him back inside for his lesson. That would have been fine if it not been for the fact that Will had quickly gotten involved in his son's game with the dog, and had either forgotten or disregarded what he had been sent to do. Now that he thought about it, William suspected that his mother had known what was happening and allowed them to play for a good hour or so before coming outside herself. William giggled to himself as he recalled the stern look on his mother's face that didn't reach her eyes – those always gave away what she was really thinking and it was obvious that she wasn't angry. She actually looked more pleased than anything. His father had sheepishly apologized to her, but it was clear from his tone that if he were put in the same circumstances again, the same thing would happen.

William jumped as the clock chimed the quarter hour. _Fifteen minutes and just four more pages._ With newfound determination he forced himself to finish his assignment. He had scarcely finished the last sentence when the door to the study opened. William looked up to see his father standing in the doorway.

"This is a little different than it was yesterday, isn't it?" Will commented.

"Yes,sir. But it is kind of boring."

"I'm sure it's only temporary. Your mother will find someone else soon, I 'm sure."

William looked at his father as he debated whether or not to make his next request. _It can't hurt to try. _"Do you think you could talk her into letting me go to the town school with my friends? It's not like they can tease me anymore about –_you_ – not being here and all that. And I _know _not to tell anyone where you were."

Will crossed to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down across from William. "I honestly can't say. Your mother had her reasons for doing things the way she did and I have no place questioning them." Will leaned in closer to his son. "At least not until I've had a little more time to learn my way around," he add conspiratorially. "But until then you and I both have to trust her judgment."

"I guess that means I have to be patient some more?"

"I think that about sums it up. Now are you finished with your reading? Evan should be here in a minute or two to take you to the Cavanaugh's."

William's face fell. "I thought you were going to go too."

"_You _need time with your friends." Will flashed a grin. "Besides, your mother insists that we go see about getting me some shoes and a new pair of boots this afternoon."

William leaned over to look under the table at his father's outstretched legs and his well-worn boots. "They are a bit scuffed," he appraised. "Mama would only let me wear anything that looked like that when I'm playing. That is if I _had _a pair of boots…" William wondered if his father remembered their discussion earlier in the week and would catch on to his offhand request.

"But I _like _these boots; they're broken in just how I like them." Will mimicked William in surveying his boots. "And your mother said no – or at least not until your feet stop growing quite so fast. I have to admit she made a valid point with that."

"That's what she always says." William tried his best to look dejected, but couldn't quite pull it off. He gave his father a crooked smile. "But you did ask her," he said slyly.

"I said I would, but I think _you _set me up. You knew what she would say and why." Will fought back a laugh. "I would suggest that you not do that again."

William nodded seriously. He could hear the laughter in his father's voice, but he also could tell that he was also absolutely serious about his reprimand.

"You never answered my question either," Will pointed out.

William looked confused until his father laid his hand on the cover of the book that rested on the desk between them. "Oh! Yes, sir. I'm finished."

"Good," said another voice from the doorway. "I would hate to think I stopped what I was doing for nothing."

"Evan," Will said as he turned his head and nodded in acknowledgement of the younger man.

"Capta – _Will_," Evan replied with a matching nod and a bit more force in his voice than necessary as he corrected his mistake.

Both Turners stood up.

"Your mother and I will come by to get you later. Have fun with your friends, but don't get into _too_ much mischief," Will warned as he gave William a quick squeeze.

"And what makes you think that _I_ might get into mischief?" William asked innocently as he headed out the door with Evan.

Will followed them to the door. "That would be because I know your mother," he said.

Jonathan and Robert –_Robbie_ Cavanaugh were seated at a table in the main room of the Flash of Green waiting somewhat impatiently for their friend, Will, when the front door banged open to reveal the nine-year old in question along with his escort. Jonathan, the eldest, rose from his seat to greet the boy while Robbie remained in place with his eyes fixed upon something lying on the table in front of him.

Evan debated asking where the boy's mother was so he could advise her of the arrangements that had been made for William's return home, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. She would never let William leave the tavern unaccompanied. Besides, it wasn't as if he had ever overtly disobeyed his mother's rules anyway. "Don't forget your mother is coming to get you later this afternoon," he reminded the boy as he turned to leave.

"And Papa too. He said he would."

Evan gave William a slightly embarrassed smile. "And your father too. It's still too easy to forget he's here."

"_I _wouldn't forget," William announced boldly.

"No, I wouldn't expect you would," Evan chuckled. "Just don't forget what he told you about getting into mischief."

William rolled his eyes at Evan and then turned to his join his friends. Jonathan stood nearby, waiting anxiously, but quietly, for Evan to leave. Robbie had yet to move. The instant the door clicked shut, Jonathan leapt into action.

"Come on! You have to see _this!_" He grabbed William's arm and began to drag him towards the table.

William looked at the tattered piece of parchment spread neatly in front of Robbie. It appeared to be a map of a small island – not Jamaica to be sure, marked with a various odd symbols and lines leading off in several directions. Towards the center of the map was a tiny outline of what appeared to be a chest, next to that was another illustration drawn so faintly that it was nearly impossible to tell what it was other than it was narrow at one end and roundish towards the other.

"What is that?" William asked.

Robbie raised his head, glanced at his brother, then looked at William as if he were stupid. "It's a _treasure _map. Can't you tell?" He sounded annoyed at having to explain.

"We found it," Jonathan added.

William impassively regarded the sheet of paper. Treasure usually meant pirates and pirates seldom made maps. Even if they did, they certainly wouldn't leave it lying around where a pair of young boys could find it. Knowing that certainly called the map's authenticity into question, but it wasn't as if he was at liberty to explain how he knew so much about pirates and their habits. Yet despite that bit of knowledge, the map intrigued him. Somebody had to have made it, somebody had lost it, and surely it must lead to something. "Where?" he asked.

"In a book –at school." Jonathan answered.

"It's a pirate map. And this is where they buried their treasure." Robbie pointed at the drawing of the chest in the center.

"How would a pirate map get into a book at school?" William scoffed at the idea. "That would be stupid."

"And what would _you _know about pirates?" Jonathan retorted.

William shrugged his shoulders. _More than you ever will. "_Where's this island?"

"That's the part we don't know," Jonathan pointed out as Robbie studied the map some more. "We're going to have to find it."

"I _knew_ that." William rolled his eyes at Jonathan. "_How_ are we going to find it? We don't even know where to start."

"There are lots of islands west of here – on the far side of the harbor. We could start there," suggested Robbie.

Jonathan punched his brother's arm. "Oh, that is so very helpful," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How would we know which one to start with?"

William turned the map towards himself. "Look." He traced his index finger along a thick line that ran from northeast to southwest on the map. "I think this is a river – or a stream, maybe? I guess it depends on how big this island really is."

"And how is that supposed to help?" Robbie asked.

William looked at both boys with a distinctly smug expression. "Find the river and you know it's the right island."

"Now if we only had a boat," Robbie said wishfully as he first looked at his brother, then at William. "Then we would be all set."

Jonathan immediately caught on to his younger brother's plan and focused his gaze on William.

"_What_?" William looked from one boy to the other as their unspoken suggestion slowly sank in.

Jonathan looked at Robbie with a sly smile on his face. "If we could only borrow a dinghy or a skiff or something … _then _we could go look for the treasure." He studiously ignored William, knowing good and well that it would get his attention.

Robbie's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "One with sails, of course, - it would be too far to row all the way to the harbor. Especially if there are just _two _of us."

"I know what you two are suggesting." William sounded irritated. "You _know_ my mother would never let me borrow one of the boats."

"But what if you forgot to ask first?" Jonathan suggested.

"It's not that far really. We could be back before she even noticed we were gone – _if _we planned everything," Robbie hinted - not so subtly.

"Even so, it would take more than the three of us to handle it. If that's really a river," William pointed at the map again, "then it would take at least four of us with the oars."

Jonathan looked at Robbie and nodded his head knowingly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Robbie grinned at his brother and nodded back before turning his attention back to William. "I think we can solve that problem too." He sounded almost arrogant, standing up from the table and picking up the map. "Will, we have someone you need to meet."

Jonathan followed his brother's lead and also arose from the table. The two brothers turned and headed towards the back of the tavern and the door that led to the courtyard. William furrowed his brow in confusion and followed his two friends.

TJ and Jacob Brantley were hard at work cleaning the set of rooms next to the ones where they had recently taken up residence. Mrs. Cavanaugh had mentioned the possibility of the walls separating the two living spaces eventually being removed, but in the mean time they hoped they could talk their mother into converting the area into their own quarters .They didn't intend to act disrespectful for what they had been given already, but it was somewhat cramped with all four of them living in two tiny rooms. They both knew their mother would balk at the idea, but it wasn't as if they would be that far from her and Amelia.

TJ, ever on the alert for possible danger, heard the other boys first. He raised a finger to his lips and signaled for Jacob to be quiet as he peered through the open doorway to investigate. He immediately recognized the two Cavanaugh brothers having been introduced to them the previous afternoon, but the third boy was unfamiliar. Jacob tiptoed up behind his older brother to also sneak a peek at the other children. Neither boy had been afforded the opportunity to make friends since they had come to Port Royal and Jacob was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to do so now. He didn't care that TJ tried to be so cautious – it had been four months since the boys, along with their mother and sister, had fled both their home and their father. In Jacob's manner of thinking, if he hadn't found them yet, it was unlikely that he would, so why worry about it?

William was the first to spot the other two boys watching cautiously from the old barracks. "Who are they?"

Jonathan smiled, but kept his eyes on the Brantley boys. "_That _would be the rest of our crew."

"TJ, Jacob, come here. We have someone we want you to meet," Robbie called out.

Jacob stepped out from around his brother and headed towards the trio. He already knew that Jonathan and Robbie were about the same age as he was, and if he had to guess, the new boy was too. TJ hesitated for a brief instant, then followed his brother out into the courtyard.

William quickly summed up the two new boys. He guessed that the smaller, green-eyed brother was about his own age, or maybe even a year or two younger, but the taller boy was clearly older than either William or his friends. As the eldest, though only by a few months, of his group of friends, he had always been the leader. The thought that another boy might come in and usurp his power put him on the defensive, but only just.

"Hello! I'm Will…William…Will." He cringed internally at his sudden indecisiveness about his name. "Are you Miss Estrella's children?" He offered his hand as he had been taught. His mother might not like rules, but manners were a different subject all together

TJ smirked, tilted his head to one side and looked William up and down. He was not accustomed to _children_ – little boys to be exact, calling his mother by her Christian name. _This one needs to be taken down a notch_.

Jacob didn't care. "It's nice to meet you Will-William-Will! I'm Jacob and this is TJ," he said gesturing towards his brother. "How do you know our mother?"

William dropped his hand back to his side, smiled at Jacob, but kept a wary eye on TJ. Jonathan and Robbie stepped back and watched the mostly negligible power struggle begin to emerge. With a little bit of luck, maybe the whole thing would turn into a wrestling match. And while TJ was clearly much larger than their friend, William was not to be underestimated. He was much stronger and faster than he looked—a fact that both Cavanaugh brothers were intimately acquainted with.

"I met her the other day. She knows my mother," William said, and then added almost as an afterthought, "And my father too, I think."

"Turner." TJ finally broke his silence, but kept his eyes locked with William's. He remembered his mother telling them about the Turners and the role they had played in securing her a job and ensuring that the Brantley family had a place to live. Hadn't she also mentioned that she had been Mrs. Turner's maid at some point? That would certainly explain the boy's lack of formality when referring to TJ's mother. _Maybe he's not so bad after all._

"Yes," William confirmed, noticing some of the antagonism had vanished from TJ's expression, but he could not imagine why.

TJ's face erupted into a grin. "Is there something we can call you other than Will-William-Will? That's quite a mouthful." He laughed as he said it.

"Just Will. Or William if you want, but only my parents call me that…and Evan. He chewed on his cheek as he thought for a moment. "And Mercedes," he added slowly as he looked up like he was trying to find the answer to some question. "And Miss Mary, but I think that's it." William realized he was beginning to babble—something a leader should never do.

Jonathan took advantage of the subsequent lull in the conversation to hawk their idea. He took the map from Robbie's hand – taking care not to damage it and held it up for TJ and Jacob to see. "We need you two to help us find this."

TJ and Jacob both leaned in closer to examine the parchment.

"Is it real?" Jacob asked. It was impossible to disguise his awe.

William turned to survey the courtyard. "I think we need to find someplace else to talk about this. If any grownups see it, we're sunk – or worse." He looked at Jonathan and Robert. "Your sister could see it and then where would we be?"

"Or our little sister." TJ commented then looked toward the Cavanaugh brothers. "Where are they anyway?"

Robbie giggled at something that apparently only he found funny. "They're in Moira's room playing with her dolls, I think." He looked at William and grinned before adding in a singsong tone "If she knew Will was here, she would be following us everywhere."

"Moira _likes _Will," Jonathan teased in a singsong voice.

William's ears turned pink as he glared at his two friends.

TJ snickered at his new friend's obvious discomfort. "If they're in the house and our mother is in the kitchen, then we should have all the privacy we need in our rooms. Follow me."

Jacob, Robbie, Jonathan and Will all followed TJ into the abandoned barracks they had just been cleaning. Jacob dragged an old table to the center of the room and dusted most of the dirt off of it as Robbie closed the door. Jonathan spread the map out on the table and gently smoothed its surface.

"So," TJ began. "Tell us about this plan." He addressed William in manifest acknowledgement of William's role as clear-cut leader of the group –something no one dared refute.

William looked around the circle and smiled mischievously. "Here's what I thought we could do."


	19. Reading Minds

_Reading Minds_

Estrella stood in the shade of the awning outside the rear entrance to the tavern, vigorously fanning herself with one hand and massaging the small of her back with the other. It was difficult to tell which of the myriad of physical discomforts were causing her the most distress at the moment. As if her rapidly expanding midsection wasn't enough to accommodate, her unborn child was becoming quite restless – most especially at night. Being near the end of her second trimester meant that in addition to the normal aches and pains associated with pregnancy, it was now becoming increasingly difficult to find any position, much less a comfortable one, that would allow her to sleep peacefully. Add to that the oppressive heat and the gnats—_always_ the gnats—and it became almost unbearable, but bear it she would. There was really no other choice.

She looked across the courtyard at the newly renovated quarters she shared with her three children. New lace curtains fluttered in the open windows revealing glimpses of the refurbished interior. It didn't matter to her that the living space that she had been allotted would never actually belong to her, she was still immensely proud of it. It was easily the nicest place she had lived since she had been released from service at the Governor's mansion so many years before – and it was now about to become the roomiest too.

Over the past several days the rasping sound of wood being sawed, accompanied by the incessant beat of hammers had become increasingly familiar. A deep rumble of male voices periodically punctuated the noise while the occasional crash of walls being unceremoniously destroyed completed the symphony. It was the owner of one of those voices, and the tavern where she both worked and lived, which now drew her attention.

Will Turner wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand and blinked several times as he stepped from the dim interior of the former barracks into the bright sunlight of the tavern's inner courtyard. He was aware of Estrella, standing some distance away, apparently watching him—quite closely at that. He knew the polite thing would be for him to speak to her, but in truth, she made him more than a little uncomfortable. The memory of how she had looked him over on his first day back was still fresh in his mind. Whatever could have prompted such an overt appraisal was a mystery to him and apparently would remain so. Logically, he knew that she posed no threat, but the memory of her mention of the _Flying Dutchman_, that first day, when he and Elizabeth had met her in the street, still unnerved him.

The fact that she claimed to have seen the ship was a possibility, but only if it had been over the course of the little over a year between Estrella leaving Port Royal and he himself assuming command of the _Dutchman._ He had spent his entire ten years aboard the ship working under the assumption that the living could not see it, and while he knew Elizabeth had been able to _sense _its presence—or rather _his _presence—the only exception he knew to that rule was Mercedes and even that had been only recently acquired information. But that wasn't what had alarmed him about her tale, for she had also claimed that her recently deceased husband had been claimed by Davy Jones.

Will had learned from his son that Estrella's eldest child, TJ, was in actuality named Thomas after his father, but Will couldn't remember there ever being a crew member with that name. Of course, not everyone who drowned joined the crew—that would have been impossible, but anyone who had been a sailor was usually given that option. The only exceptions being those that were deemed unable to comply with the ship's purpose, but there had been so few of those towards the end of his captaincy that Will felt sure he would have remembered the name, at very least; if not the person it belonged to.

That meant that Estrella had to be lying about one or both of those claims. But _why?_ He knew from their youth that she was prone to flights of fancy, but this was out of character, even for her. She had to be hiding something, but as to what that was, he could not imagine. And while Elizabeth was far more suited to pry that information out of Estrella, she had thus far avoided all but the most minimal of contact with her. He couldn't actually blame her for that, neither one of them was quite ready to face people they had known _before_. Not everyone was as quite as open-minded as Mrs. Lansford and _no one_ was as open-minded as Mercedes.

Will glanced up at the sun overhead and quickly determined that it was time for him to go home. Evan might be more than willing to stay and work all day, but Will was still unable to even force himself to spend more than a few hours away from his home and his wife. The only thing that had made it tolerable for him was that William frequently accompanied him and Evan to the tavern in the mornings. However, today had not been one of those days. Elizabeth had insisted that William stay at home that morning and do lessons with her. A replacement for Mr. Tolliver had yet to be found, but Elizabeth was bound and determined that their son's academic enlightenment would not suffer in the meantime. Will's consolation for making do without William today was that he would have an entire afternoon with just the boy's mother while William played with the Cavanaugh and Brantley children.

Judging by the position of the sun and how hungry he was, he knew that Mercedes would soon appear, William in tow, with a picnic lunch for her and Evan. While Will could return home right now if he wanted, he couldn't bring himself to leave without at least a few minutes with his son. Spending time with him had quickly become a habit he had no intention of breaking.

A slight smile formed on Will's face at the thought of his nine-year old son's insistence on helping with the construction. It wasn't as if he would ever really need to know how to build or repair something—the family was financially gifted and could readily afford to hire craftsmen of every sort to take care of such mundane needs—but he was fascinated by his father's ability to do things with his own hands. As long as Elizabeth didn't mind the boy wielding the occasion hammer, Will certainly wasn't going to quell his son's curiosity.

Estrella continued overtly watching Will. She had been trying for days to put her finger on some elusive detail that struck her as not quite right about his appearance, but until today had had no luck. And then it hit her. It was his clothes. She tilted her head to one side as she contemplated what he was wearing. They were clearly clothes meant for work—the kind a blacksmith might wear—but as far as she had been able to tell, no one save her, even knew he had ever been a common laborer. That was not what had caught her attention about his attire though. It was the fact that everything he wore was new—from his shirt to his shoes. He most certainly hadn't been wearing new clothes the day she had met him and Elizabeth in the square. Those had been well worn and bore the telltale saltwater stains of a sailor's clothes. But Will wasn't a sailor. _Was he?_ She distinctly remembered him having a fear of the water as a child. _Didn't we tease him about that?_

The young man working with him certainly wasn't wearing anything new, although even his clothes seemed to be of a better quality than one might normally expect of someone in his presumed position. As to what his position with the Turner's was, she had no clue. She had heard William call him by his first name like one would expect a child of his social standing to address a servant or employee. Even Will addressed him by his first name. _What was it again? Evan. I think that's right. _It was the lack of formality on Evan's part that made her curious. Had he been merely in service to the family, shouldn't he have addressed Will as Captain Turner and William as Master Turner?

Estrella moved her hand from her aching back and lightly placed it over her stomach. Her baby was kicking, but not nearly as much as she remembered during her other pregnancies. As the movement ceased, her thoughts returned to solving the mystery that was Will Turner.

It was obvious to her that there was also something about him now that had not been there when she had last seen him. Even when he was still in his teens, he had exuded a kind of quiet confidence that made people pay attention to him when he spoke. But he hadn't spoken much, at least not much more than he had to, and even then he said the bare minimum—the result being that people tended to underestimate his abilities. Elizabeth always had been, and apparently always would be, the exception to that rule. He was still his normal reserved self, but now there was a sharper edge to that air of authority.

Perhaps it was that innate self-assurance that inspired people to refer to him as _Captain _Turner without question. And thus far, _referring_ to him was pretty much all anyone ever did. Aside from the Cavanaughs she had yet to meet one single person who had actually seen Will, much less one who remembered him or Elizabeth from days gone by. It was readily apparent that Elizabeth Turner was held in high esteem among the clientele of the Flash of Green as was Will, but clearly he had earned their veneration on reputation alone. _How was that even possible?_

Initially, Estrella had not realized that neither Laura nor Nathaniel Cavanaugh had ever met Will before that night she had arrived at the Tavern with the Turner family. Even with Laura's ravenous curiosity and ceaseless inquiries into Estrella's former life as Elizabeth's maid—particularly of the time of their courtship and engagement—it hadn't occurred to Estrella until several days after her arrival that the Cavanaughs truly knew next to nothing about Will. They evidently, unquestionably, had accepted Elizabeth's word that there actually was a Will Turner, that he was the father of her son, and that he was away for an indeterminate amount of time.

Her awakening had come the night that the Cavanaughs had invited the Turners to supper with the intent of gaining permission to renovate the area surrounding Estrella's quarters in order to provide her still growing family with more room. Estrella had served the meal that evening. It was, after all, what she was paid to do, but because of the planned topic of discussion she had also, somewhat reluctantly, joined the festivities.

She remembered thinking then that there was something odd about the way the Turners acted, not necessarily something wrong, but something that made them both overly cautious—almost as if the bare minimum of physical distance between them caused them serious emotional distress. It was true that the two of them had been unusually close, even as children, and had often given the impression that each one nearly always knew what the other was thinking, but they both still managed to mature into two very strong-willed and independent people.

Nathaniel Cavanaugh had addressed all of his requests to Will, which he rightfully should have, as the traditional head of the household. Will, in turn, either deferred to Elizabeth, or at very least, sought her opinion on various matters. And while most men didn't normally allow their wives much of a voice—hers certainly didn't—it was how Will had always treated Elizabeth. Admittedly, it was possible that habit had grown out of the extreme differences in their upbringing, but Estrella had always deemed it to be merely a unique facet of Will's personality, and saw no reason to believe any differently now.

Estrella was sure that neither of the Cavanaughs found Will and Elizabeth's behavior out of the ordinary. Why would they? Will was an unknown quantity to them. And Nathaniel, having been a sailor himself, most likely thought nothing of Elizabeth practically clinging to the husband whose return she had longed for ever since they had known her. Laura, on the other hand, probably thought the whole thing was terribly romantic and was already planning who she would relay her tale of the evening's events to first. Estrella heaved a tired sigh as she fervently wished that she too could indulge in Laura's fantasy. But the truth was that she couldn't—something was a bit off in the Turner household and she had no idea what it could be.

Will cut his eyes towards Estrella, still wondering all the while what she was up to. His first impression had been that she was staring at him, but now it seemed more like she was looking through him. _What does she see? _From what he could tell, she had not moved at all from when he had first entered the courtyard, other than to rest her hand over her swollen midsection.

A brief, but vivid image of Elizabeth looking much the same formed in his mind. He regretted that he had precious few memories of what she had looked like when she was carrying William. No matter how much she insisted that the whole affair had been rather mundane and that he had not missed much, he still longed to experience every moment of it right along with her. The faintest hint of a smile again formed on his lips as he considered the possibility of becoming a father yet again. Nothing would make up for what he had missed of William's infancy and early childhood, but it would have to suffice. Elizabeth had kept an exquisitely detailed journal of William's accomplishments, from his first words and first steps to learning to read and losing his first tooth. It had been as much of a consolation as he could hope for, but now he needed something more. He would never admit it to Elizabeth, but he was just as, if not more, impatient than she was to add to their family.

He also suspected that that impatience was a large part of the reason that Elizabeth had thus far avoided talking to Estrella or, for that matter, to Laura Cavanaugh either. They had learned just barely a week before, at supper with the Cavanaugh family and Estrella, that Laura was also expecting a child. Elizabeth had maintained her cheerful demeanor, but he could tell she was bothered by the announcement, and perhaps a bit jealous. As was her habit, she was more than willing to offer assistance of any sort to her former maid, but no matter how much Will insisted that what she might need most is someone to talk to, Elizabeth had demurely declined. It didn't take Jack's beloved compass to tell what Elizabeth wanted most. She wanted a baby, and she wanted one now.

The two of them had agreed long before to try and be as optimistic as possible about their ordeal and the implications it had on the plans they had made for their life together, but they were both human and subject to the same doubts and foibles as anyone else. It didn't matter how many times they tried to convince themselves that Will's stint aboard the _Dutchman_ only meant that their dream of raising a family was simply delayed. There was always going to be that little nagging uncertainty hiding in some forgotten corner of their minds, just waiting to make itself known when they least expected it, and were unable to defend themselves from the accompanying uncertainty. Will was well aware that, despite his reassurance about the hints dropped by both of their mothers; Elizabeth was suffering one of those moods now.

It had been so easy over the past decade for Will to push all his worries aside. His task had required so much of his time and concentration that there had been hardly a moment left to dwell on what the future may or may not hold. But now everything had assailed them both—full force—with no sign of relenting. They knew they had to face their new obstacles together, but sometimes it all felt so overwhelming.

After a lifetime of fending for himself and living a solitary life, Will had suddenly found himself having to adjust to actually _being_ Elizabeth's husband, not just in name, but in deed also. Then there was the task of being a parent, relearning to live among a class of people to which he had never thought to belong, running a business, and countless other minute details of his new life. And yet, all of it seemed so insignificant when compared to the one thing they had they had both wanted more than anything, the first decision they had made together after they were officially affianced – that they both wanted to raise a family _together—_something that had been unavoidably denied to them as children.

He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the stiffness and soreness his recent activities had caused in his muscles. Hard work, in the form of physically demanding labor, was no stranger to Will, but his and Evan's current project was a bit different from what he had been accustomed to over the past decade. It felt good to be doing something—he was tired of being housebound—but he wasn't ready to face a town full of veritable strangers either. He glanced up at the sky once more and then walked to the water pump in search of something to relieve his parched throat.

Estrella thought of her own husband as she watched Will unwind the tattered cloth he wore around his neck, soak it in the water, and make an effort to rinse away at least some of the accumulation of dust and grime before going home to Elizabeth. Thomas would never have been that considerate; personal hygiene and appearance being rather low on his list of priorities. As with practically everything else, he blamed his lack of social graces, manners and fairness, on his impoverished upbringing and missed opportunities, but Estrella had learned early on in her marriage that Thomas never took the blame for anything. _Everything _was someone else's fault. She often questioned how her life would have been different had she not been so blinded by his attentions that she either did not see or simply chose to ignore his major flaws. Sometimes she wondered if she was more to blame for that than she realized. She had been, and to a certain extent, still was, quite jealous of what Elizabeth had found with Will. Had she naively convinced herself that if Will, who had faced far more obstacles than Thomas could ever dream of, could overcome his disadvantageous start in life and make something of himself, then surely Thomas could too?

The stray memory of her life those last few months she had lived in the Governor's mansion led her to think of Elizabeth, and exactly how it was that Estrella was standing here now, gainfully employed, with a nice home, everything she or her children could need, and a chance once again at happiness. It was a shame that her pretty picture of what her life could be was marred by her guilt over her own deception. She needed to tell Elizabeth the truth about her situation, but the longer she put it off, the harder it became to even think of sharing her story.

Today was one of those days when Estrella tried unsuccessfully to convince herself that her troubles were all behind her. It had been a little over five months since she had fled her home in the colonies. As soon as Thomas had gone back out to sea, Estrella had taken her children, along with what few belongings they could carry, and set out to begin a new life for herself and her family. Even now, in her weaker moments, she considered leaving Port Royal and returning to Charleston. It was quite possible that Thomas was still away and did not even know yet that she had left him. But then she would remember what life with him was like. That, more than anything, stiffened her resolve to forge a new life for herself and her children.

The sound of two voices, both young, but one not quite so young as the other, interrupted her thoughts. She turned back towards the open doorway into the tavern to see who it was, but immediately realized that it must be Elizabeth's new maid, Mercedes, bringing William over to spend the afternoon with his friends. She could hear Mercedes' lilting voice speaking slow, carefully pronounced Spanish to William, who was responding in kind in his own halting version of the language. Estrella had no idea what they were discussing, for although her own father was the son of a ship-wrecked Spanish sailor, he had never bothered to teach his daughter a single word of his first language. It was something that she seldom thought about, but today it bothered her. What better way would there have been to worm her way into Mercedes' good graces than to share a language that she seldom had cause to use?

"Good afternoon, Miss Estrella!" William announced brightly, flashing a smile that couldn't help but make Estrella think of his mother. "Are TJ and Jacob finished with their lessons yet?" His voice was hopeful yet hesitant.

Mercedes stood quietly next to him, one small hand resting on William's shoulder and the other clutching a fair sized basked containing what must have been lunch for herself and Evan. She had a puzzled look on her face and her brow creased as if she had just lost the words on the tip of her tongue.

Estrella returned William's smile. It was hard not to. "I think so…actually I have no idea. I haven't seen them since shortly after breakfast. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen Jonathan and Robbie for a while either." She glanced away briefly, contemplating all possible places that four active boys could hide. "If I were you, I think I would look in the stables first. That seems to be a rather popular place with them these days."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed with Estrella, nodding his head. He then looked at Mercedes with a look of angelic innocence. "Mercedes, could you _please_ take your time with your errands? Mama said I can only stay until you come back to get me."

The tiniest smirk appeared on Mercedes' face and her eyes sparkled with amusement. "That would be almost the exact same request your mother made. I suppose that means I have no other choice. Besides, I think it would be nice to have Evan escort us home." She cast a quick glance towards the area where he should be working, but saw only Will.

"Mama wants me to stay here _all_ afternoon?" He sounded skeptical. "What is she going to do all afternoon with just Papa at home?"

Estrella stifled a laugh with an ill-disguised cough.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Mercedes told William almost too curtly, shooing him off in the direction of the stable. "Now go find your friends."

"Some things never change," commented Estrella, noticing the faint pink of a blush on Mercedes' face. "Miss…_Mrs. _Turner was never very subtle about what she wanted when it came to Will." She watched William run off towards his father, the friends he had been so anxious to see temporarily forgotten.

"She's earned that right, she paid a high price to have him back," Mercedes commented absently, also watching William's dash across the courtyard. "They both did, so it's only fair."

Estrella looked at the girl, a puzzled look on her face. _Price? What price? The disapproval of the town's more well to do citizenry for marrying below her station? Surely that's not what she means by a high price. Will was well worth that—not that Elizabeth would have cared what anyone thought anyway. And exactly _where_ was he back_ _from?_

Had Estrella not known better she would have sworn that Mercedes had forgotten she was there at all. They way she had spoken gave Estrella the impression that her comment could as just as likely have been her talking to herself as sharing information. Perhaps this was her chance to catch a member of the Turner's inner circle off guard? Surely Mercedes had to know something about the mystery surrounding Will. After all, she lived with the Turners. How could she not have picked up on at some tantalizing bit of information.

"Where was he?" Estrella boldly asked Mercedes. What did she have to lose by asking? It wasn't as if subtlety had worked. Even managing to finagle the most miniscule bit of information from her would constitute a victory. She turned her attention back to the happy little reunion between William and his father. _They've only been apart for hours and yet they act like it was days, weeks even. _

"Where was who?" Mercedes asked shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts.

"Captain Turner." A twinge of jealousy pricked at her heart at the sight of Will and William. Her own husband had had little to no interaction with their children unless it was absolutely necessary. He had been quite boastful when it came to the number of times he had gotten her with child, but beyond that he viewed his offspring as an inconvenient byproduct of his sexual prowess.

"Hasn't he been here all day?" Mercedes sounded confused.

"Yes, but I meant before."

"Before? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Estrella gave her a hard look. She was in no mood to play games. "Yes, I think you do understand. Why is it that hardly anyone in Port Royal can recall ever having seen him or at least not until a month ago? How long was he gone? Where was he?"

Mercedes' gentle demeanor suddenly vanished. When she spoke her voice was cold and tinged with indignation. "I most certainly have no idea what you are referring to and even if I did…" She stopped abruptly and turned her head towards Estrella's quarters just as Evan stepped out into the sunshine.

Estrella followed her gaze, wondering how she could have heard his footsteps from this distance. How else could she have known the precise moment he would emerge from the building?

Mercedes slowly turned back to Estrella. "Even if I did, I would be neither tempted nor allowed, to share personal information of any sort with anyone. _You_ should know that better than anyone. Were not _you_ Miss Elizabeth's personal maid at one time?" Mercedes asked pointedly.

Estrella stared at Mercedes for several moments. She had never expected, nor would have guessed, that she was capable of defending her mistress with quite so much fervor. Estrella made a mental note to be more cautious around Mercedes, for there was obviously much more to her than she chose to reveal.

"You're right," Estrella confessed, suitably chastised. "I _do_ know better and I _was_ wrong to intrude upon your loyalties. Please accept my apologies, if for nothing else, then for Mrs. Turner's sake."

"But, of course," Mercedes said brightly, her fit of pique swiftly vanquished, almost frighteningly so. "And if you'll excuse me, I must deliver Mr. Ross his lunch." With that she turned and walked almost regally to where the young man in question was standing.

Estrella watched her progress across the courtyard, and as always, wondered what the Spanish girl's true tie to the Turners was. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that there was a part of her that was jealous of Mercedes as well. When Estrella had first returned to Port Royal and learned that Elizabeth was still there, she had entertained thoughts of once again becoming her personal maid. It hadn't taken long to discover, among other things, that the position was filled, and that it was highly unlikely that would change. And while Estrella had thus far not seen the interaction between Elizabeth and Mercedes, it was quite clear from her interaction with both Elizabeth's husband and son, that the girl was not a servant per se. While it was apparent that she did perform many, if not all, of the tasks associated with that position, she was apparently more of ward than an employee. The same seemed to be, or at least had been, true of Evan. Both of them displayed an uncharacteristic familiarity with the Turner family. That meant they were probably privy to a goodly portion of the family's story, but their unwavering sense of loyalty to the Turners was going to make it difficult, if not impossible, to get either one of them to divulge what they knew.

It appeared that Mercedes' background, and what she was privy to, were destined to remain a secret. The only thing about her that was not enigmatic was her interest in "Mr. Ross." Estrella recognized the signs of a young couple trying desperately to not reveal too much and risk a broken heart. Estrella was well versed in matters of that nature. Even had she not been quite so adept in her observations, Mercedes was a bit transparent where Evan was concerned. _So much like Elizabeth was at that age. _He was working at a tavern, for goodness sakes—one where it was not unheard of for him to take his meals—and yet she insisted on bringing him his lunch _every_ day. If that wasn't sign enough, she also stayed with him while he ate. She wondered how Mercedes would react if she was called out on her habit? Would Estrella again see the viciously protective temperament that resided just beneath the surface? It wasn't as if Estrella couldn't handle it. How many times had Elizabeth nearly snapped her head off for merely suggesting that her mistress fancied Will Turner?

Estrella sighed and smiled at the memory of how things had changed after Elizabeth's kidnapping and subsequent rescue. Everything she had longed suspicioned had proven true. In spite of her father's misgivings, Elizabeth had been allowed to pursue her feelings for Will. Even Estrella's own relationship with Elizabeth had changed. For a few months she hadn't just been Elizabeth's maid, but her confidante too. She was not foolish enough to believe that had happened because of her trustworthy reputation, but rather the absence of any of women her age. Then it was almost too easy to believe that Elizabeth saw her as a friend and not just her employee. But things had changed. Thomas came into her life and tainted everything that he touched with his scheming. Hardly a day passed that she didn't wonder how her life might have turned out had she not been taken in his charm and good looks. With that thought on her mind, she returned to equally sweltering heat of the kitchens to continue her day's work.

Mercedes and Evan sat on a bench, in the shade of one of the outbuildings, eating their picnic lunch. Their location didn't offer much respite from the heat, but it was better than nothing. Even though Will had already left to return home, leaving them unchaperoned, the pair reluctantly resisted the temptation to sit closer together than propriety considered acceptable. Had they been home, that would not have been the case. Elizabeth had made it abundantly clear that she cared less than nothing for those kinds of rules. However, once out in public, the pair tended to conform to society's norms.

"I feel bad for her," Mercedes said out of the blue.

"For who? Mrs. Brantley?" Evan took her random statement in stride. Making statements that seemed to come out of nowhere was just one of those things that Mercedes did—frequently. Other people might find her unusual habit a tad unsettling, but Evan had been exposed to it for so long that he seldom ever noticed anymore.

Mercedes nodded her head solemnly. "She's been through so much already, she doesn't need any more."

"Is something going to happen to her?" She had Evan's attention now. He had long since learned that when Mercedes made a pronouncement about possible future events, it was in everyone's interest to pay attention. The trouble was that she was sometimes rather unintentionally vague with her predictions.

"I…" Mercedes hesitated, knitting her eyebrows in consternation. "I don't think so. I'm not sure, really." She stopped speaking and tilted her head as if listening to a distant and indistinct voice. "Her baby. There's something sad about her baby," She said finally.

"He or she, as the case may be, will grow up without a father. I know how sad that is," he replied, remembering that not only had he grown up without a father, he couldn't exactly remember his mother either.

"I think she's better off without him."

"She? Do you mean Mrs. Brantley or her baby?" Evan was getting the feeling that this would be another one of those conversations where he had to consistently ask for clarification.

"Both, I think." She turned her face towards Evan. "They would all be better off if they never saw him again."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem since she's a widow now," Evan added uneasily, suddenly apprehensive about what Mercedes might say next.

"I know that's what she says, but I don't think that's quite right. It's like she's not sure if she is or not. There's a sense of fear in her—the children too."

"How could you not know if your husband was really dead or not?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized how close to home his question was.

"No, it's not like with Miss Elizabeth," Mercedes said, answering Evan's unspoken thought.

"Then what?" Evan was getting more confused by the minute.

"I don't know. There's just something troubling about her is all. All I can tell you is that it's just a feeling. I can't tell you more than that." She was beginning to sound frustrated with herself. She couldn't quite put her finger on the problem, but there was something that bothered her about Estrella—something beyond the other woman's curiosity about Will and his recent whereabouts.

"Then let's not worry about it now. We have other things we can talk about," Evan suggested, reaching over to gently stroke Mercedes' cheek with his fingers.

Mercedes smiled shyly, reaching her hand up to cover Evan's. "And what other things might that be?"

Will opened the gate leading to the garden beside the house instead of entering through the front door. Other than the day he had first arrived home he hadn't used the main entrance at all. Had anyone bothered to ask him why, he probably would have said something about it making him feel more like he belonged there just because he was at liberty to use whichever entrance he so chose. It didn't matter to him that the garden entrance was normally reserved for servants and the like. It was his home and he could do whatever he wished. The fact that this was the first time in his life that he had been afforded that luxury was not lost on him. In his entire thirty-two years he had never once been free of obligations imposed by another. It was true that he had a family now and their well-being took precedence over his own, but the responsibility of a wife and child was of his own choosing, and as such, did not interfere with how he lived his life. They _were_ his life, as plain and simple as that.

He closed the wooden gate behind him, remembering Elizabeth's apparent obsession with keeping any and all door like objects firmly shut. Having spent a goodly portion of his life in a confined space, Will much preferred everything to be open. He wanted to see the world around him, even if that world was located within the confines of his own home. _That is the one thing she does that really annoys me. _

Something struck him as not quite right about things, but he had no idea what it was. He stood just inside the gate for a moment; trying to put his finger on what was different—and then it hit him. The ever present mouth-watering aroma of whatever Mrs. Lansford happened to be cooking that day was missing. Furthermore, the door to the kitchen was closed and latched, as were the shutters. That was something Mrs. Lansford would never do. Just the heat generated from either the ovens or the fireplace were enough to make the temperature in the tiny building close to unbearable. They location of the kitchen's windows and doors were perfectly positioned to allow Mrs. Lansford a nearly unobstructed view of the compound to the rear of the house, along with the garden area and the gate. Because of that, very little of the family's day-to-day routine escaped her notice. For her, to not notice any variance in that routine was simply unheard of.

Will cautiously approached the kitchen door. He was sure this was not Miss Mary's day off. He had both seen, and spoken to her, before he left for the tavern that morning. Besides, even if it had been her day off, it would not have been unusual for her to stop by to check on her charges.

He stopped outside the door for a moment and listened for any sounds of movement inside. Hearing none, he gently lifted the newly reinforced, Brigand proof latch on the door and quietly pushed it open. He was right. No one was there. With the windows shuttered and the fire unlit, the details of the room were hard to see, but the open doorway allowed in enough light for him to identify several cloth-covered trays lining the work table. From the amount of food she had left, it was apparent that wherever she had gone, she was _not _coming back today.

Will closed and re-latched the door, remembering the havoc Brigand and his boy had visited upon the kitchen that first day after he came back. He turned towards the house and headed inside to find his wife.

The inside of the house was markedly cooler than outside. It was also quite dark. Someone had drawn the heavy drapes across nearly all the windows in an effort to deflect the burning sun. Will noticed how abnormally quiet it was too. He had not realized how quickly he had become accustomed to Mercedes' ever present singing, the sounds of Evan working outside, the opening and closing of doors as the household went about their business, and the sound of Elizabeth's and William's voices floating in the air.

He peered into the rooms of the lower floor, looking for his errant wife, but could not find her. He was on the verge of refocusing his search on the upper floor when he heard the distinct sound of chair legs scraping on the wooden floor coming from Elizabeth's office. Will reversed direction, approached the door, and tapped lightly.

"_You_ don't have to knock, only overly curious little boys are required to do that," said a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Will smiled to himself and opened the door. "Does that apply to the overly curious father of the aforementioned overly curious little boy?" He laughed lightly as he entered the room.

Elizabeth was seated at her desk, carefully examining some unidentified document. She did not look up. "I suppose that would depend on what said boy's father was curious about, but then again, since this would be his office too, I think I'll have to declare it a moot point."

Will approached Elizabeth's chair from behind and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "No, this is yours."

"No," she said, tilting her head back to look up at her husband, "this is ours." She reached up with her own hands and rested them on top of his.

"I won't argue with you. I learned long ago that once you make up your mind, nothing will deter you," Will stated wisely and leaned forward to rest his chin on the top of Elizabeth's head while simultaneously sliding his hands over her breasts to rest on her stomach.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply and her eyelids fluttered closed. "If I hadn't been so single minded, then we wouldn't be here now, would we?"

"And for that, I am eternally grateful." He lifted his chin and kissed the top of her head.

Elizabeth said nothing, but leaned back towards Will, a contented smile on her face as she enjoyed the feel of him so close to her.

"Elizabeth?"

"Mmm?" she murmured. Her voice betrayed what she was hoping Will's request would be.

"Where's Miss Mary?" He practically whispered his question.

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open. "That is _not _what I was expecting to hear." The disappointment in her voice was clear. She pulled herself away from her chair, stood up and faced her husband.

Will did his best to look innocent, but knew that Elizabeth saw through his guise.

"I gave her the rest of the afternoon off." She took three slow steps towards Will. "Evan is still working." She closed the gap between them. "William is playing with his friends." She pushed herself up against his chest and looked up at him. "I gave Mercedes a list of errands to run that she can't possibly finish for several hours." She slid her arms around his neck. "And all you can think of is to ask where the cook is?"

"Did you have something else in mind?" He raised one eyebrow curiously and put his hands on her hips.

"Don't you?" She asked seductively.

"Not really. After all that work this morning a bath might be nice." He moved his hands to the small of her back.

Elizabeth made a show of sniffing the air and wrinkled her nose. "I should say so!" She laughed.

Will flashed her a huge grin. "Would you care to join me?"

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side, gazing up at him. She then raised herself up on her toes and kissed him in such a way that left no doubt in his mind as to what her answer was. The only doubt he had at the moment was if they would make it as far as the bath house.

It seemed his concern was well founded as Elizabeth backed towards her desk, pulling him along with her.

"What are you doing?" he barely managed to mumble.

"What do you think I'm doing?" She lightly bumped into the desk and stopped moving, but remained with all of her attention focused on Will.

"Something terribly inappropriate, I'm sure." Despite any misgivings he may have had, he leaned forward towards his wife causing her to lean back over the desk. So much, that she was forced to put her hands out to steady herself.

"And exactly what do you consider inappropriate?" She breathed, pushing with her hands until she was in a seated position at the edge of the desk. She was only remotely aware of books and papers sliding across the polished surface as she made room for herself.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"And what exactly _did _you have in mind?" Elizabeth lifted one hand and rested it over his heart.

"Perhaps I should have said this isn't _where _I had in mind, but I'm reasonably sure this is _what_ I had in mind." He raised his own hand to cover hers.

"What we do and where we do it, in our own home, is no one else's concern." Elizabeth leaned forward to kiss the base of Will's throat.

"What if someone walks in on us?" Will tilted his head back and sighed deeply.

"That's precisely why I sent everyone away for the afternoon." She pulled back slightly and stared at his hand covering hers. "I like to feel it beating," she whispered, referring to his now pounding heart.

"As do I," he replied, lowering his face back to hers. He removed his hand from hers and gently stroked her face. "And before you change the subject, might I point out that since we are in our own home, there is a perfectly serviceable bed just at the top of the stairs. I would be quite content to spend all afternoon there," he suggested hopefully.

Elizabeth changed courses and began untucking his shirt. "So there is," Elizabeth agreed. "Mercedes changed all the bed linens today," she added almost absently.

Will raised his arms over his head in compliance with Elizabeth's insistent tugging at his shirt. "So much the better. I've learned to appreciate clean sheets and comfortable beds."

Elizabeth gave Will a puzzled expression, not having been entirely aware of her own comment. "Oh no, not when you're this sweaty and dirty," she decreed, tossing his shirt to the side.

"You've never complained about that before," he teased, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers.

"True, but now I have a choice and I think I shall have to insist that you get cleaned up first." She closed her eyes, sighing contentedly as she always did in response to their long-standing affectionate gesture.

"I do believe I mentioned something about a bath?" He put his hands on her lower back and tried to pull her back into a standing position.

"Later," she said, locking her fingers around the lip of the desk and leaning back from Will in an attempt to hold her position. She kept her eyes tightly closed and struggled to calm her breathing.

Will shifted his hands from her back to abdomen and trailed them slowly up the front of her blouse, deftly unbuttoning it as he went. "So, is this our compromise?"

"Umm," she mumbled as she sat up straight, opening her eyes and reaching forward to slide her fingers inside the waistband of his trousers, presumably to locate the buttons that held them fastened closed.

Will sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth at Elizabeth's touch. Any remote thought of relocating the afternoon's activities to another room were gone. He grasped her skirt and began slowly sliding it up. His work roughened hands continued their journey along her thighs to her hips, removing any potential impediments as he went.

Elizabeth dropped her head forward and whimpered, all the while pulling Will closer to her. She then raised her face to his, put one hand on the back of his head and pulled him in for heated kiss while simultaneously wrapping her long legs around his waist.

Will leaned forward and pushed her back onto the top of the desk while using one hand to sweep away the collection of whatnots that normally covered its surface. He winced slightly at the delicate tinkle of broken glass, but was not bothered by it enough to investigate.

Apparently, neither was Elizabeth. She had, after all, initiated this particular tryst so any damages were her responsibility—not that either of them was coherent enough at the moment to consider things of that nature.

"Will," Elizabeth breathed, "I…you…we…oh!"


	20. First Steps

Elizabeth tucked in a stray wisp of hair as she checked her appearance in the mirror once more. She was acutely aware that her sudden concern with how she looked was born entirely out of her nervousness about the plans for the day, but at least it had temporarily distracted her from the other things currently weighing on her mind – or at least from most of them. Today, she and Will were going down to the shipyard to check on the newest addition to their fleet. The ship, as yet unnamed, was nearing completion, and it was time to start making decisions about certain _accoutrements _- mainly weaponry. The furnishings were minor in comparison. It wasn't like there was much room for variation.

All of other vessels in the Turner-Castillo line had been acquired elsewhere, and had long since been fitted out as appropriate, so today's task would be a first for her, as well as Will. No one would dare question Elizabeth Turner's knowledge of ships and sailing, but she was grateful that she had Will's expertise to rely on, too. How much more of a reliable opinion could she ask for, considering that he had spent the past ten years confined to a ship?

She crossed the bedroom to the French doors leading out to the small balcony and looked outside. She stood with her arms wrapped across her midsection as she watched the shimmering heat envelop the street below. It was abnormally hot, even for mid July. Not the ideal weather to be out and about in your Sunday best, but Will had finally decided he was comfortable enough to start venturing out into society. It had taken him six weeks to get to that point and as such Elizabeth was reluctant to avoid the inevitable any longer. At some point they would have to face the whispering voices and prying eyes of Port Royal's residents. It wasn't like they hadn't dealt with much the same before, and if Will was ready to face it then she couldn't exactly argue, could she?

While Will hadn't been out much, he hadn't exactly been completely house bound either. When the request came from Nathaniel Cavanaugh to remodel the old barracks to something more suitable for its new occupants, Will had immediately volunteered. So for the past month, Will, Evan, and occasionally, William too, had left the house at daybreak to spend the morning working at the tavern. They were nearly always home before lunch; Evan to take care of his normal duties for the household, and Will to spend the afternoons getting to know his son. On the increasingly frequent occasions that William opted to stay at the tavern to play with his friends, Will instead spent countless hours learning about the business end of the shipping company from his wife.

While he enjoyed any endeavor that allowed him to spend time with her, the work at the tavern had proven to be a godsend. Will was not the kind of man who was content to do nothing and the manual labor associated with the reconstruction provided that outlet for him. As of yet he was still unsure of what he wanted to do with himself, but he was sure of two things; that he did not want to return to sea and that life behind a desk was not for him.

The modifications to the rooms that Estrella's family now occupied had provided the perfect distraction for him – even more so, in that every other adult at the tavern had responsibilities elsewhere during the mornings—responsibilities that allowed Will and Evan to work in comparative peace. There were no prying questions to be answered simply because there was no one there to ask them. Although, according to Will, Estrella had spent a significant amount of time watching them work. At first, he had attributed her observation to curiosity about her new home, but he had gradually come to believe that there was something she wanted to tell him. Something that made her seem afraid.

The family, Evan, Mercedes and Mrs. Lansford included, had agreed on what they believed to be a plausible, but simple explanation for Will's return. Too much detail could lead to discrepancies that they could not explain; too little detail would lead to more questions, and quite possibly incite gossip beyond what was already inevitable. The entire Turner family had at some point been the subject of an inordinate amount of speculation, but there was no sense in adding fuel to the fire.

Because of the family's need to present a united front, and their intense desire to spend time together as just the three of them, Elizabeth had neglected many of her social obligations, not to mention her friends, for the past month and a half. She was fairly confident that once word got out that her long missing husband had returned home, she would be forgiven. After all, who would blame her for wanting to spend time with him? For all anyone knew he could leave again any day and not return for who knew how long. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a precedent set for that scenario. Port Royal's livelihood was the sea. When its men went to sea no one knew for sure when they would return or for that matter, _if _they would return.

The one person Elizabeth did feel guilty about avoiding was Estrella. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to see her former maid, but she knew there would be more questions than she had answers for –_yet_. Elizabeth had sensed the night she and Will had met her in the street that there was something more to her story. Even as disinterested as Will was with what Estrella's tale might be, he too had commented that something did not ring true about her plight. Estrella's behavior the few times they had been to the tavern, along with Will's other observations, only added to the mystery.

Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily at the memory of Estrella telling her that she had lost her husband to the sea – to Davy Jones to be exact. Obviously _that_ could not possibly be true, at least not in the strictest sense, but it was entirely possible that she had been widowed – it happened with alarming frequency, particularly among the wives of sailors. She had also claimed to be staying with her older sister. That also was not true. Elizabeth had known that from the moment the words came out of Estrella's mouth, for in fact, Elizabeth had made a point of searching for members of Estrella's family when she had returned to Port Royal. They had all been in her father's employ and had been exceedingly trustworthy. Considering the rather unusual circumstances of both Elizabeth's and her son's lives at that point the need to hire someone of that caliber was of utmost importance –thereby making the Rubino family the ideal candidates. Unfortunately, what Elizabeth had found was that all of them were either dead or had left the island. Elizabeth had no idea why she had not called Estrella's bluff that first night. Perhaps it was because Elizabeth too had secrets best left unspoken

William had quickly taken a liking to TJ and Jacob Brantley and had begun to spend many of his afternoons with his newfound friends. Elizabeth hadn't realized until recently how little time her son had spent away from her prior to Will's return. Whether the reason was that she was too protective of him or that he felt a need to protect her – he was that much like his father in that respect ­–s he did not know. What she _did _know was that he acted as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his small shoulders. It saddened Elizabeth to think that only now was he finally allowed to be nothing other than the barely nine-year old child that he was.

Every evening Elizabeth and Will both looked forward to listening to their son recount the day's adventures – adventures that were also a source of concern for her, but she again attributed it to a long standing habit of keeping him close at hand. Hearing William's stories from afternoons spent with both Estrella's sons and the Cavanaugh boys had only made Elizabeth more suspicious about the truth behind Estrella Brantley's return to Port Royal. According to William, the family had few personal belongings and not much clothing other than what they were wearing – the excuse being that they had had to flee their former home on very short notice. Luckily, that particular problem had been simple to resolve, for between William and the Cavanaugh children, there were more than enough hand me downs – although TJ, being three years older, had been a bit more of a challenge. Even tiny Amelia had benefitted from Moira Cavanaugh's generosity, after having declared herself the younger girl's personal benefactor. Elizabeth smiled at the image of Moira already teaching Amelia how to be the perfect hostess. _Would she do the same for my daughter if I had one?_

Then there was the curious fact that none of the children had had any schooling, and while Amelia was still a bit too young to have attended the town school, her brothers undoubtedly should have. William claimed that their father had expressly forbidden it, even going so far as to prohibit their mother from teaching them to read. In his childish way of thinking that concept was totally unheard of – surely everyone went to school. Elizabeth smiled at the memory of how perplexed William had been at the idea of a husband placing such outlandish restrictions upon his wife. It certainly wasn't something William had, or would ever, experience, as far as his parents were concerned.

Elizabeth achingly recalled how adamant her father had been that even the poorest children be permitted to attend the school in Port Royal – something that Will had taken more advantage of than most, albeit with more than a little pressure from her. She smiled at the memory of them both at twelve, suffering through history lessons together. She had begged and pleaded with her father to allow Will to join in on her lessons, claiming that he was the only friend she had, no matter how inappropriate it may have been. Now that she thought back on that time, she was astonished at how easily her father had capitulated with her request. _Did Father know I needed him even then? _

Returning her thoughts to Estrella and her children, she realized how grateful she was that Laura Cavanaugh had taken it upon herself to teach TJ and Jacob as much as she was able to over the summer months, in preparation for attending school with everyone else in the fall. Elizabeth would have liked to believe that Laura's motivation had been purely altruistic, but truthfully it was probably more of a preventative measure on her part. Laura's sons were well known for getting into mischief – by making sure the other two boys who lived at the Flash of Green attended school too, she cut down on her own children's chances of getting into trouble. Surely at least one of the boys was bound to let their plans slip. Knowing William's own thirst for adventure did nothing to advance his case for attending school with his friends during the coming year. No matter how much she trusted her son, she knew that mischief had a habit of finding him.

Elizabeth cringed at the idea that the harsh reality of life for those less fortunate than the Turner family was beginning to become abundantly clear to William. Even during their years on the run, and in hiding, he had never suffered too much in the way of hardships. She was well aware that her son was sheltered in some respects. _But look at the other things he's had to deal with. _Perhaps his new friends would be a lesson for him that no matter what their circumstances, people were the same inside, and that money and station did not necessarily make you better than anyone else.

Elizabeth continued to stare out the window as she tried to convince herself that her desire to spend time with her husband was the only reason she had avoided going to the Flash of Green. It had been simple to explain her absence during the morning hours by claiming she had business to attend to or simply did not want to interrupt the day to day routine of running the tavern. No one ever questioned the afternoons, quite possibly because that's when things truly did get hectic around the tavern. Truthfully, of all the places she and Will could have gone, had they chosen to venture out, the tavern would have been the easiest. He had already met the Cavanaughs and despite the minimal interaction with them when he was working, they had at least exchanged cursory greetings and such. Estrella had known Will nearly as long as Elizabeth had, so that was no excuse either.

Elizabeth sighed and hugged herself tighter. If she was to be brutally honest with herself, she would have to admit that beyond those first couple of weeks after Will's return that none of her "excuses" had anything to do with the reason she had been avoiding Laura and Estrella. The truth was that she was jealous – a fact she was most certainly not proud of. At first she had not been bothered by Estrella's pregnancy, but then she had learned that Laura Cavanaugh too, was expecting another child. Had it not been for the vagaries of fate, it should have been – no, _would _have been her. Neither she nor Will had ever wanted William to grow up an only child as they had. And yet, now that she could quite possibly have another chance, she had no reason to believe she was pregnant and every reason to believe she was not. It didn't matter that Will repeatedly cautioned her to be patient and reminded her of the vague, but hopeful things their mothers had implied – she still continued to worry. _Do I want this too much? _

She dropped her hands to her side and turned from the glass doors. Will had long since gone downstairs and was probably beginning to wonder what had become of her. She took on last look at herself in the mirror and sighed before heading for the door and whatever lay ahead.

William sat at the dining table with his head resting on his outstretched left arm. In front of him lay a carefully and artfully arranged array of items – a candlestick, one overturned spoon, a teacup minus its saucer, and a carefully crumpled linen napkin, among other things. In his right hand, he held a fork at ready as he surveyed his landscape. There was no particular pattern to the arrangement and from time to time he repositioned a piece or two as he contemplated the plans he and his friends had been making for their adventure.

Even after six weeks, they hadn't managed to make much headway. Trying to find a time and a place where they could openly discuss their options was difficult, at best. William was beginning to wonder if parents really could read minds, because at least one of them showed up at the most inopportune moments. Moira and Amelia were another story entirely. No matter how many times their older brothers told them to leave them alone, and go have a tea party with their dolls, they still insisted on following the boys' nearly every move. William grimaced at the thought of the constant teasing he got from the other boys about Moira. She really was getting quite annoying, and he had no idea what to do about it. _I would hate to have a baby sister._

William took the fork, and placed it tines down next to the spoon. He then carefully tilted so that only one of the tines touched the table, and then rotated it around so that it now faced the opposite direction. He continued this process, meticulously measuring the distance between the spoon and the saucer. _Eleven forkfuls – I thought it was farther. _From the saucer he continued plotting his course to the napkin-island, circumnavigated it, then measured the distance back to his home port at the spoon. He chewed on his lower lip as he thought how much easier their journey would be if they only knew where the mysterious island was – not as easy as navigating silverware around the table to be sure—but charting a course would be no problem for him. Had he not spent more time aboard a ship than he had on land during his short nine years? _Almost as much as papa._

Truthfully, where they were headed was the easy part. Finding a way to get there was proving to be much more of a challenge. His parents owned the perfect sized boat for such a short jaunt, one that could easily be sailed by five young boys –even if four of them had limited experience. That detail alone had been enough to get him unanimously elected captain for the expedition. Right now, his biggest problem was how to actually borrow the boat. It wasn't as if he could just ask. There was no way that his parents would allow that, no matter how much experience he had. He couldn't help but believe there was a solution to his problem – if only he could think of it. In the meantime, all they could do was wait, and take advantage of any opportunities as they arose.

William had intended to wait for his parents to have breakfast with them this morning, but he was beginning to despair of them every coming downstairs. He knew they were awake, he had heard them talking as he passed by their room, but as was often the case, they were taking their time. William rearranged the topography of his imaginary world, and resumed his relentless measuring of distance by fork tines as he tried to ignore the sound of his stomach growling.

Will stopped just shy of the entrance to the dining room to watch his son. He smiled at the memory of himself, not much younger than William was now, doing almost the exact same thing. He could remember sitting at a table in the kitchen while his mother prepared meals for the family she worked for. Instead of spoons and cups to represent his islands, he had used whatever food items his mother currently had on the table – a potato here, an onion there, maybe even an apple or two on occasion. In his mind, they had represented the Caribbean – where he had believed his father to be. In Will's imagination, the two of them had sailed side by side from port to port in a magnificent ship, in search of endless adventure. He was not unaware of how close, and yet how far off, his fantasy had been. He did not know if the little world William currently had set up was a representation of any place as specific as his had been, but he had a feeling that this was not the first time his son had played this game, and that at some point it had served a similar purpose as his own version had.

"Papa!" William shouted gleefully as he noticed his father standing under the archway. He straightened up in his seat the right way in case his mother wasn't far behind. He was sure she wouldn't approve of his manners at the moment. "Keep your elbows off the table" was a common refrain for Elizabeth. William could only imagine what she would say if she caught him with his head on it.

"Good morning." Will felt the same jolt of pride in his chest as he did every morning when he saw his son. Elizabeth had assured him that the feeling never went away, and to just enjoy it for what it was – the realization that the little boy was a combination of the best of both of them and how much he loved him. He fervently hoped that she was right, but then again, she usually was.

Will walked over to the table and looked at his son's handiwork. "What do we have here?" he asked, ruffling the boy's hair before taking his seat at the head of the table.

"Nothing." William began putting everything back where it belonged. "I was just playing while I waited for you and Mama."

"I would have thought you would have long since been outside playing with Brigand or following Evan around." Will heard the audible growl from the boy's stomach. "Haven't you eaten?" he asked disbelievingly.

"I wanted to have breakfast with you, so I waited." William shrugged his shoulders.

"So, I gathered. Shall I…"

Will's offer was interrupted by Mercedes entrance from the kitchen. She was carrying a tray containing a tea pot, three cups and everything else they would need. "Good morning, Captain Turner, William," she said brightly as she gently placed the tray on the table and began removing its contents.

"It's just Will. You don't have to call me anything other than that. Actually, I think I would prefer that."

"Yes, sir," Mercedes nodded her head noncommittally. "Get started with your tea and I'll be right back with your breakfast."

As soon as Mercedes was through the door Will spoke. "I'm never going to get used to that."

William wrinkled an eyebrow in confusion. "Get used to what?"

"How she just knows when to come in without anyone telling her."

"Oh. That. I guess I just don't notice it anymore." William looked at his father thoughtfully. "Papa? Why are you dressed up today?" He righted the teacup island he had created, and poured his tea into it, completely ignoring the clean one Mercedes had brought.

Will looked down at what he had on having entirely forgotten that he was wearing some of his new clothes. "Do you like them?" he asked in an amused tone as he stood up to make a show of modeling his attire. He wore a coat and breeches that were such a dark shade green that it was nearly black over a snowy white shirt and buff colored waistcoat. On his feet was a new pair of shiny black boots. His dark hair was neatly pulled back and tied with a matching length of green ribbon.

William giggled at his father's impromptu fashion show. "But you still didn't tell me _why_ you're dressed up today," he complained. "I was hoping you would stay here with me today." William tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He pulled the sugar bowl over and began scooping spoonfuls of the light tan crystals into his cup.

Will sat back down as Mercedes returned with another tray, this one loaded with hot rolls, butter, jam, honey, assorted sliced fruit and more. This time she left the entire tray on the table. "Thank you, Mercedes," Will called after her as she headed back outside.

"You're most welcome, Captain…Will." She finished her statement with a nervous laugh, closing the door behind her.

"Papa!" William was getting impatient.

"All right," Will laughed. "Your mother is taking me to the shipyards to meet Mr. Davidson and to inspect the new ship. She somehow thought this," he gestured at his clothes "was more appropriate that what I normally wear."

"You mean she doesn't want you to look like a pirate today." He grabbed a roll, split it open and put it on his plate.

"Something like that," Will mused, as he began to prepare his own cup of tea. "And I never was really a pirate."

"But I thought she liked for you to be a pirate." William dragged the honey pot over to his plate and began slathering his roll with the thick, golden syrup.

"And where did you get an idea like that?" Will sounded slightly worried. He picked up a roll of his own, and watched William.

"I overheard her say that to you one night. You were in your room." William paid no attention to his father's horrified expression as he considered his chances of getting away with putting a second layer of honey on his bread.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that," Will managed to say in a strangled voice, reaching to move the honey pot out of William's reach – grateful to have an excuse to change the subject.

William grinned innocently at his father. He had known all along that there would only be a limited window of opportunity as far as getting away with things, but he was surprised at how quickly his father was learning the rules. Learning that William had an incurable sweet tooth was one of the first things he had figured out.

"Papa, is it very hard to find north without a compass?"

"No, not really. Why?" Will drizzled honey all over his roll as well.

"Can you teach me how?" William asked hopefully.

"I suppose." Will began adding to the ample layer of honey already on his roll.

"Papa!" William said sharply.

"_What_?" Will's eyes opened wide as he realized what he had done. He grinned sheepishly at his son and pushed the honey pot back to him. "That will have to be _our _secret."

"And what secret would that be?" Elizabeth asked as she entered the room. She walked to the far side of the table and kissed the top of William's head. "Good morning," she said, before returning to her own seat.

"You look very pretty today, Mama." William smiled beatifically at his mother.

"Thank you, but it's still not going to get you out of answering my question." She picked up the teapot and began to pour.

"It's just man stuff," Will said looking at his wife with a bemused smile on his face.

"Oh, I see. And since I'm not a man, I'm not privy to these secrets?" Elizabeth asked, making a face at William.

William giggled at his mother, but kept his secret.

"Did your father tell you we're going out today?" Elizabeth managed to mask her concerns. She worried about Will facing so many people he didn't know—all of them with questions he didn't want to answer and, as always, she worried about leaving William at home. While she rarely went anywhere without her son in tow, it wasn't really all that unusual for her to leave him at home on the infrequent occasions when she went to take care of business matters. But for some odd reason, she was more anxious about it today than normal. She had no idea why, which unsettled her further. _Could it be because everything in my life seems so perfect now, and I'm afraid that something bad will surely happen? _She pushed the thought from her mind as she speared a chunk of papaya from the bowl of fruit.

"Yes, ma'am. He said you're going to see the new ship." He stretched his head up to see what else was in the fruit bowl – papaya not being his favorite. "And I don't get to go, do I?" He scowled at that idea.

Elizabeth pushed the bowl towards him. "No, not today. I think it would be best if it was just your father and me today." She looked at Will to see if she could read his thoughts on the matter, but he didn't seem to have much of an opinion at the moment. "Maybe next time all three of us can go? Besides, I thought you were going to go play with your friends this morning."

"No ma'am. Jonathan and Robbie have to help their father _all _day and TJ and Jacob have lessons this morning." He shrugged noncommittally, but still managed to look hopeful that his mother would change her mind.

Will tilted his head slightly, and looked at Elizabeth with one eyebrow raised questioningly. They had both assumed that William had other plans, and as such had not included him in theirs. And while today might be easier without him around, Will _did_ enjoy his son's company. The boy could hardly go five minutes without finding something to amuse him, and laughter was something that had been in short supply in Will's world.

Elizabeth almost imperceptibly shook her head. "We should be back by this afternoon, maybe we can all go for a walk on the beach or something?" Elizabeth knew he was disappointed. The fact that he rarely asked for anything – other than his endless requests for a little brother—made her feel a bit guilty at rejecting his request.

William skewered some mango slices and added them to his plate as he considered his mother's proposal. He chewed thoughtfully, his gaze shifting between his parents. "I suppose that will have to do, but next time…" He waved his fork at his mother.

"Why, yes sir. Anything you say, sir," she responded with a laugh.

Will pushed his chair back from the table, stood up and offered his wife his hand. "Are you ready?"

Elizabeth smiled up at him as she took his hand and stood next to him. "We won't be long, I promise," she said to William.

Will released Elizabeth's hand for a moment and stepped over to William's seat. He crouched down so that he was eye to eye with the boy. "We'll do something special soon, just you and me." His voice was hardly above a whisper. William nodded and smiled as his father kissed his forehead then stood back up. "I trust you'll stay out of too much mischief while we're gone?"

"Yes, sir!" He replied with just a tad too much enthusiasm. He had already decided how he was going to spend his morning and fortunately, it would meet his father's requirements – for _today_ at least.

The day's oppressive heat washed over Will and Elizabeth as they stepped out the front door. They were no strangers to hot weather, but they were both beginning to question their decision to go to the shipyard today of all days. It might not have been so bad had they not already decided to walk. Their destination was actually far enough from their home that, under normal circumstances Elizabeth might have arranged for a carriage, but they had both decided that it would be to their advantage if the residents of Port Royal started becoming accustomed to the sight of Elizabeth with her husband. Their hope was that they would quickly become such a familiar sight, that it would curb at least some of the curiosity.

Evan, Mercedes, and Mrs. Lansford could all attest to the townspeople's curiosity about Will. All three of them had been accosted at some point with people wanting to know this and that about the mysterious Captain Turner. The fact that he had remained in self imposed seclusion for a month and a half hadn't helped. Elizabeth was sure that the walk to the shipyards would take far longer than normal as it would be virtually impossible to_ not_ have to stop and socialize with inquisitive townspeople.

Will offered his arm to Elizabeth. She slipped her left hand into the crook of his elbow and placed the right one on his forearm. She would have much rather just held his hand, but today they were having to play by society's arbitrary rules, and holding hands just was _not _done in public. It was early enough that the streets were still mostly deserted, much to Will's relief. He knew that this would get easier the more he got out of the house, but that fact was doing nothing to quell his nerves right now.

"You look quite handsome today."

Will exhaled sharply. "Do I? I feel more uncomfortable than anything." He ran one finger of his free hand around the inside of his collar.

"You'll get used to it again soon enough. You've done it before."

"True. And I don't have quite so much to learn this time, do I?" He gave Elizabeth a lopsided grin.

"No, but I must say you've been doing quite well at your newest responsibility."

"My what? Did I miss something?" He searched his brain for some memory of recently added responsibilities.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, and leaned her head in to Will's shoulder for a second. "Learning to be William's father? Did you forget that already?"

"Oh! _That._" He sounded relieved that he had not forgotten something else. "Am I? Sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing." He covered her right hand with his left.

"Unfortunately, that feeling never quite goes away. Just when you think you have him figured out, he goes and does something totally unexpected."

Will rolled his eyes. "Well _that's_ encouraging," he said sarcastically.

"Are you _sure _you want another one?" She was only partly joking.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation then kissed her temple.

"Mrs. Turner! How nice to see you! It's been _ages,_" called a friendly sounding voice from across the street.

Elizabeth felt Will flinch at the interruption. Neither of them had been paying much attention to their surroundings as they walked along, but she now realized that they were in the midst of the more commercial section of Port Royal. The dressmakers, tailors, cobblers, jewelers and such on these streets tended to cater to the more elite citizens of the town. These were the places that Will would have not received a very warm welcome, until that last year before the Company came. Even then, he had only ventured here at Elizabeth's insistence, and always in her company. He knew that now no one would give a second thought as to whether or not he belonged here, but there was that little part of the old Will – the one who was an orphaned blacksmith's apprentice, who lived in a much less desirable part of the town—that still felt vaguely uncomfortable among these people.

"Mrs. Worthington. Hello." Elizabeth responded to the woman who was now rapidly approaching. She felt Will's arm tense beneath her fingers, and squeezed them in what she hoped he recognized as a gesture of reassurance.

"I was just asking your housekeeper the other day where you have been hiding yourself. She said your husband was home?" She smiled brightly at Will. "And I suppose that must be you!"

Will still had not relaxed his grip as Elizabeth answered for him. "Why yes, Mrs. Worthington, this is my husband, William Turner," Elizabeth proudly introduced him. "Will, this is Agnes Worthington. She and her husband own the chandler's shop."

Will smiled graciously at the woman as he tried to memorize what she looked like for later reference. _A good bit shorter than Elizabeth, a little older, mousy brown hair, kind of nondescript features and overly friendly. _"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Worthington." He nodded to her, but did not release his hold on Elizabeth.

"It's _Captain _Turner, is it not? I hadn't heard of any new ships coming in, but I suppose I could have missed one." She wrinkled her brow and tilted her head as she tried to recall a ship that she could not possibly have seen. "No matter." She shook her head as if disagreeing with herself. "How long will you be here, if I might ask?"

Elizabeth looked up adoringly at her husband. "_Forever_," she whispered so that only he could hear, then turned to Mrs. Worthington. "He's not leaving again. I need help with the company so he's retiring from the sea – after a fashion I suppose."

Agnes clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, I am so absolutely happy for you. I'm sure your son is excited, too. You simply _must _all join us for supper one evening. I insist! Mr. Worthington would never forgive me otherwise."

"Thank you, Mrs. Worthington," Will responded. "We would very much like that." He squeezed Elizabeth's fingers then relaxed his grip.

"Mrs. Worthington? I really don't mean to be rude, but Will and I have an appointment with Mr. Davidson to inspect our new ship and we're running a bit late – so if you'll please excuse us?" Elizabeth said apologetically.

"Oh, that's quite all right. I certainly didn't mean to keep you." She turned her attention to Will. "I'm sure you won't regret your decision to stay for one moment, and I dare say the same goes for your family."

Will gave her an almost shy smile. "I'm sure you're right," he said softly, almost shyly.

"Well now, I must be on my way and so must the two of you! I'm quite serious about the invitation, but I will give you both a bit more time to settle in. I'm sure this will be an adjustment for the both of you. Please, enjoy the rest of your day." Agnes then turned and continued on her way without once looking back.

"She seems nice," Will commented as he looked at Elizabeth.

"She is," Elizabeth agreed. "And I think you handled it quite well," she added proudly. "I promise, it will get easier."

The rest of the walk took every bit as long as Elizabeth had anticipated. No one they encountered was willing to pass up a chance to meet Elizabeth's both elusive and mysterious husband. All in all, she thought it had gone quite well. No one asked too many prying questions or at least none that couldn't be handled quickly and efficiently with minimal offense to everyone involved. Those who knew or remembered Will from his time in Port Royal before the untimely arrival of the East India Trading Company had at least granted them the courtesy of not mentioning the events surrounding his and Elizabeth's unscheduled departure. They were both well aware of how lucky they had been this morning and that that luck would not hold forever. Perhaps given time, the curiosity would fade and life would settle into some semblance of normal – or at least what would be considered normal for the likes of the Turner family.

Oliver Davidson was not a nervous man by nature, and yet today he found himself fidgeting relentlessly and unable to concentrate. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the ledgers on the desk in front of him, his mind continued to wander to Elizabeth Turner's impending visit. Logically, he could remind himself that her presence at the Turner-Castillo offices was nothing out of the ordinary, for she visited on a regular basis. And unlike many of the business owners he had worked for in the past, she was quite hands on _and _extremely knowledgeable about her company – or rather the company that she claimed belonged to her and her husband.

It was the thought of her husband that Oliver found so distracting. He was well aware of the gossip and speculation surrounding his absence, but Oliver had never felt it was any of his concern. Had anyone asked his opinion, he would have said he believed that the man she had married had long since passed on, and that she continued to insist that he was merely away for an extended period for no other reason than to smooth her way into a predominately male dominated business. With as much business savvy as she had, it would not be difficult to imagine her doing something of the sort.

And yet now he was beginning to doubt his assumption. As always, she had sent him a note advising him of her intentions, but this one had been distinctly different. Instead of her normal "_I_" this one had clearly stated that "_we" _were coming to inspect the new, still unnamed, ship. It was that use of first person plural that had caught him off guard. Initially, he had discounted the change as a simple grammatical error, but the longer he thought about it, the less inclined he was to believe that. It had taken less than an hour for him to convince himself that Elizabeth Turner was coming today and that she was _not _coming alone.

Mr. Davidson took off his glasses and began cleaning them with his handkerchief as he thought back to the day nearly six weeks earlier when he had gone to the Turner house. He had been nervous that day too, but with good reason. It was never a pleasant experience to tell an owner that they had lost both a ship and the valuable cargo it had been carrying – neither of which had been found, despite the extensive search they had been conducting. Elizabeth's reaction to the news that day had been unusual to say the least – she had not gotten angry as he had expected, but instead she seemed mystified by the development. It had not occurred to Oliver until days later that in the almost four years he had been in her employ, the company had never once lost a ship or its cargo – not to pirates, not to weather, not to a ship sinking, not to, well…anything. No one was that lucky, but it would seem that the owner of Turner-Castillo Shipping was.

Then there was the matter of her normally amiable and gracious demeanor being instead both anxious and impatient. She had not been rude, and not rushed him, but he had gotten the distinct impression that she would rather be elsewhere. It was not until their meeting was concluded, and she was showing him to the door, that he gotten any inkling about the cause of her distraction. As soon as they had entered the main hallway of the house he became aware of a deep, male voice coming from further down the hall. Elizabeth had instinctively smiled and turned her head in the direction of the sound as soon as she heard it. Oliver, without thinking, had looked in the same direction.

The man who had been leaning against the doorway with his back to them was tall, _much_ taller than Oliver, and well muscled. Obviously he was not a man who spent his days behind a desk, but rather at some type of hard, physical labor. His voice was soft enough that Oliver could not make out the words, but it was apparent from his tone that he was undeniably used to being obeyed. Elizabeth had not given him the chance to inquire as to the man's identity, but had instead hurried him on his way. _Could that have been Captain Turner? Was he part of the _"we" _that would be arriving shortly?_

Elizabeth peered through the office windows before going to the door. Mr. Davidson sat at his desk, with his work spread before him, obviously thinking about something, but she could not imagine what. He seldom, if ever, spoke of his wife, and was wont to keep his personal life entirely separate from his work, so that clearly was not the culprit. Had there been anything amiss with company business, he would have long since apprised her of the situation. She frowned slightly and shook her head as she pushed open the door, and entered with Will close behind.

"Mr. Davidson?" Elizabeth asked hesitantly, still unsure of what was bothering the man. She stepped forward as Will pushed the door quietly closed behind her.

Oliver Davidson snapped to attention. "Mrs. Turner! Good morning!" he said too enthusiastically, bolting from his chair, and knocking it over in the process. He idly noted that he had been right about her not coming alone. The man at her side looked familiar, but Oliver was sure he had never met him. He also looked slightly amused – most likely due to Oliver's reaction to their entrance.

"Oh my! We certainly didn't mean to startle you. Perhaps we should have knocked first?" Elizabeth said apologetically.

"No, no – quite all right. I'm just…distracted today and it is your office after all," Oliver stuttered as he righted his chair, then came around the desk. He stole another look at the man next to Elizabeth and realized where he had seen him before or rather not seen_ him_, but had seen his portrait. He was the same man from the miniature on Elizabeth's desk at her home – only he didn't look much older than he had in the painting, just more – _weathered_, perhaps?

"We don't want to disturb your work, but I thought I would introduce you to my husband before we go inspect the ship," Elizabeth still sounded a bit perplexed by Oliver's unusual behavior.

"So you _are _Captain Turner!" Oliver sounded both stunned and relieved, offering Will his hand.

"Yes," Will answered with one eyebrow slightly raised and his head slightly tilted as he accepted the other man's handshake.

"I believe I saw you the day I came to your home, but I had almost convinced myself I had imagined it." Mr. Davidson was beginning to recover his normal refined composure. "Will you be in Port Royal long? I would hope so for your wife's sake… and your son's too, of course. He's a dear boy – almost makes me regret not having one of my own."

Will gave Oliver a bemused smile. "Thank you, I'm quite proud of him." He turned to look at Elizabeth. "And as for my stay in Port Royal, I entirely intend for that to be permanent," he said adamantly before softening his tone. "I've missed them too much."

Oliver caught Elizabeth's shy smile in response to her husband's words. She was obviously quite pleased with his declaration, and with good reason. "Shall I take you on a tour of the ship?" he offered, hoping they would decline. Something about the way they looked at each other gave him the feeling that they wanted, even needed, to be alone. _How long _have_ they been apart?_

"Thank you, but no. I'm all too well acquainted with anything that floats. I'm sure Elizabeth and I can manage on our own. "

"Very well, very well. Don't let me keep you," Oliver said cordially, opening the door for them.

Oliver watched at the window as Elizabeth and her husband headed towards the docks. He immediately noticed that as soon as they cleared the door they gave up all pretense of man escorting his wife, and instead walked hand in hand like two young lovers. Even from a distance he could tell that they were laughing and teasing each other. He watched as Elizabeth turned to walk backwards down the dock, leading her husband, both of his hands held in hers. Had he not known that they were both past thirty and long married, he would have taken them to be an innocent young girl and her favorite suitor. He turned from the window as he again felt that vague sense of intruding on their privacy – even though they were clearly out in public.

He sat back at his desk and prepared to resume his work as he wondered about Captain Turner and where he had been all this time. From the way he treated his wife and spoke of his son, Mr. Davidson couldn't imagine he would have stayed away from them voluntarily. He also worried about how things were going to change now that Mrs. Turner's husband was back in the picture. Would he want to take a more active role in the business? Was it possible Oliver would now be made obsolete? _All I can do is wait and see. _


	21. Facing Down The Enemy

The day had turned out unbearably hot. In a vain effort to escape the heat, William had abandoned his usual lair, also known as the study, and instead made the parlor his center of operations. His first order of business was to drag a small table across the room, and situate it directly in front of the open French doors. If there was any breeze at all, he wanted to ensure he was where he could take the best advantage of it. Sadly, it wasn't as much of an improvement as he had anticipated; there was hardly enough to stir the filmy draperies that hung in front of the glass, but it was still better than the virtually airless study.

With him, from the family's substantial library, he had brought a large, leather bound book containing an extensive collection of maps of the Caribbean islands— although as to how accurate they were he could not say. The waggoner in question was one that William could always remember his mother having, but never really using. She had never said, and he had never been quite brave enough to ask, but he had always believed the book had been a gift from someone at Shipwreck Island. Why else would she refer to it in such distinct pirate terminology? Hadn't she warned him never to use that particular term anymore once they moved to Port Royal? In William's mind, that explanation made perfect sense. After all, shouldn't the Pirate King be well acquainted with her realm and its unique lexicon?

William sat at the table, rolled up his sleeves, unfastened some of the buttons on his shirt and began his research. Before him was a rough sketch, drawn from memory, of the map Jonathan and Robbie had found. William stared at it for a long time, trying to remember any other pertinent details he might have forgotten. He would need to use every clue he could possibly find, to try and locate this particular island on one of the maps. It would have helped if he knew for sure that it was one of the dozens of tiny islets littering the coast of Jamaica, but there was no way to determine that. While William was already absolutely sure that what he was planning would surely get him in trouble, there was a limit to how far afield he would stray. If the mysterious island wasn't near Port Royal, then it was entirely likely that the erstwhile explorers would never find it. _Does anyone know exactly how many islands there are in the Caribbean? Surely there must be thousands._

Mercedes, too, was looking for an escape from the heat. She sat in one of the armchairs, mending clothes, and darning socks. William knew that despite her appearance of being completely engrossed in her work, that she was in fact paying very close attention to what he was doing. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes her seemingly random comments contained useful clues about any number of things. The problem was that she didn't always remember what she had said. Besides, he _had _promised his parents that he would stay out of trouble while they were out, and Mercedes provided extra incentive to keep that promise. He never actually intended to get into trouble. It was just that trouble seemed to have a habit of finding him. His father had just told him the day before; he must have inherited that trait from his mother. That bit of information was reassuring, but he honestly couldn't imagine her doing something truly bad.

William watched Mercedes for a minute, fascinated by how quickly and accurately she worked the needle and thread. She made it look so easy, and yet he knew his mother could barely sew on a button, much less repair a torn shirt or something. He decided that as long as she was primarily focused on her work, and didn't get too inquisitive he was safe having his replica of the map out in the open. Even if she did notice it, he could always claim he was just playing. _Who would question that?_ It wasn't as if he didn't draw things all the time.

The faint skitter of toenails on tile caught William's attention. He turned his head towards the open doors and saw his dog's head peeking between the draperies. Sometimes he wondered if Brigand really knew when his mother wasn't home and took advantage of the situation, because William could almost guarantee that the moment she left, he would sneak into the house one way or another. The dog nudged at William's feet, trying to surreptitiously take refuge under the table.

"You know what your mother will say if she finds that dog in the house," Mercedes warned, without once looking up from her work.

"But you won't tell her, will you?" Brigand whined from beneath the table as if he too was asking permission to stay inside.

Mercedes snapped off a thread and turned her head towards William. "Just make sure he's out before she comes home."

"I will. I promise."

Mercedes harrumphed good naturedly, and selected a new article of clothing to work on.

William lightly tapped his pencil against the map, considering the best plan of attack. Even if he didn't find a match for his island off the coast of Jamaica, it didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere. He couldn't imagine anyone being able to catalog them all. Besides, he knew for a fact that there were some places that couldn't be found by traditional means. Hadn't Papa told him that the only way he and Uncle Captain Jack had found the Isla de Muerta was because Jack already knew where it was? Or was that the one that he could only find with his special compass? He couldn't remember, and it really didn't matter since neither story could help him now.

Brigand whined from his spot beneath the table, and butted his head against William's feet. Never one to turn down an invitation, particularly one from his dog, William turned sideways in his chair and began to silently remove his shoes and socks. He placed them on the floor where he could reach them quickly if need be, turned back the right way, and buried his toes in the dog's thick black fur. Brigand made a sound that could only be interpreted as a canine expression of pleasure as his tail thumped against the floor.

"She's not going to like that, either." Again, Mercedes never once turned to look at William.

"She's not going to like what?" William asked innocently, hoping that her statement as just a lucky guess, and not that she actually knew he was doing something he shouldn't.

"You know she doesn't like you to go around without your shoes on." She continued sewing.

William knew she had not been watching him that closely, and he had been very quiet when he took his shoes off. It somehow didn't seem fair that she had to put so little effort into catching him like that. "But Papa doesn't always wear his shoes in the house, or even outside for that matter," he countered.

"And your _mamá_ fusses at him too," she laughed. "Don't worry; I'll warn you before she gets here." She looked at him and winked conspiratorially.

William grinned back at her, then went back to his drawing, and the book of maps while Mercedes continued her task. He briefly considered apologizing to her for creating so much extra work for her when he realized that the vast majority of the clothes she was repairing belonged to him. Mama was always on to him to be careful, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. It never occurred to him how much time Mercedes had to spend sewing up the various rents and tears in his shirts and breeches. He resolved to be more careful in the future, but sometimes things just kind of _happened_.

William and Mercedes both had been focusing on their respective tasks for a good hour or more, when Brigand suddenly lifted his head to stare at the door. He began to whine as if in pain. Almost simultaneously, Mercedes also raised her head from her work, biting lower lip in concern. William looked at her and wondered what could have her so perplexed. Considering her unique, but unpredictable talents, there were endless possibilities as far as an answer to that was concerned. All three of them, William, Mercedes and the dog, started at the unexpected, strident knocking on the front door.

"Was your mother expecting someone today?" Mercedes asked William in a confused voice.

"I don't think so," he replied, searching his brain to remember if his mother had told him to expect anyone. "And I don't think Papa would have any visitors –at least any that would knock at the front door," he added playfully.

Mercedes shot him a stern look that clearly said she thought his comment was inappropriate, and that she did not find it humorous.

The knocking at the front door continued. The person responsible for the racket must have been either very impatient or very rude. Mercedes set down her sewing on the table next to her chair, and went to see who it was, while William went back to poring over his maps. He was vaguely aware of another female voice speaking rather brusquely to Mercedes, but he didn't pay any attention to what they were saying. Mama always said that eavesdropping was rude, even if it _was_ sometimes necessary, at the moment it quite obviously wasn't necessary for him.

What _did_ catch his attention was the staccato sound of an additional pair of shoes marching briskly down the hall. Whoever they belonged to was moving with determination towards the drawing room, leaving Mercedes to follow behind.

"I am quite sure that she must return soon, so I shall wait right here, thank you."

William heard the familiar voice, and cringed before the redoubtable Mrs. Busby appeared in the doorway. The memory of the last time he had seen her replayed in his mind. It had been the day that papa had come home. _Hadn't she been trying to play matchmaker for mama? _His stomach twisted, belatedly remembering that he had promised Mrs. Busby that his mother would go meet the new governor that next day – a meeting that never took place, for obvious reasons. _And what was it she called me? An indiscretion?_ _ Whatever it was, it wasn't nice._

Mama always reiterated to him the importance of being honest, and told him that lies would come back to haunt him. At the time, that one particular lie had seemed appropriate, and it wasn't as if Mama_ couldn't_ have gone to meet the new governor. Such a meeting would have been appropriate, just not for the same reasons that Mrs. Busby intended. Besides, Mama had gone along with it. He knew it was just so that they could be on their way to meet Papa, but still. She wouldn't scold him for this, would she?

"Boy," she said sharply, "Where is Miss Swann?" Mrs. Busby sat down in the arm chair that Mercedes had been using, and regarded her abandoned sewing with a look of disgust. In her idea of a perfect world, the evidence of such menial tasks should be kept from view, _particularly_ from view of the socially elite.

William looked at her with no expression on his face at all. "_Mrs. Turner_, my _mother_," he enunciated slowly, "is at the shipyard with my _father, Captain _Turner." He knew his father didn't really care if he was called Captain or not, but in this case, it felt good to point it out.

"Don't be insolent with me, boy," she snapped.

Mercedes quietly slipped back into the room, and sat primly on the sofa. She knew that her presence would likely inspire the same reaction as her sewing had, and that Mrs. Busby most likely had about the same level of respect for both. She was well acquainted with people like Mrs. Busby who perceived themselves to be somehow better than everyone else, and had learned not to let it bother her. What _did _bother her was the woman's antagonism towards William. And for that reason she was not about to let him face her alone. To a casual observer, it would appear that the girl was patiently awaiting her next set of instructions from her mistress, but in truth, Mercedes was on the alert. In her opinion, verbal attacks on the youngest member of the Turner family were just as damaging as physical attacks, if not more so.

William let go an aggravated sigh. "My name is William, William Turner, just like my father, which my mother points out to you_ every_ time we see you," he emphasized. He knew he was being rude, but it was hot, he was frustrated with his search, and he was still a bit annoyed at Mrs. Busby for implying that he had been a mistake – his parents had made it abundantly clear that of all the things he may have been, _mistake _was not one of them.

"It isa _shame_ that your mother's good name and reputation were sullied by her unfortunate liaison with that, that…" she huffed in frustration, unable to find a suitable insult for Will.

William smirked at her reaction to matching wits with a nine-year old boy. One who could not only hold his own with her, but that she perceived as being something less than a second-class citizen even. "With that _what_?" he prodded, all the while having no idea what she was implying, but from the sound of her voice he was sure it was not complimentary to his father or him, for that matter. He was well aware of the fact that he had provoked her, but for some reason he did not feel even the slightest sense of remorse for it. _Mama won't like that. Papa probably won't either._

"You're nothing but an overly ambitious miscreant's by blow," she hissed at him with her eyes narrowed.

William's brow creased in confusion. He had no idea what a miscreant's by blow could possibly be, but if he had to guess, it would be that the term was _not _something that would please his mother. And if it didn't please her, then he didn't want to imagine how his father would react. The incident with Mr. Tolliver had shown everyone exactly how little tolerance Will had when someone insulted his family, most especially his son.

William started to slam his book shut, but remembered how valuable and delicate some of the maps were, so he gently closed the cover, forming his next question as he did. He was well aware that no matter what he said to shrewish woman, that she would match him insult for insult. She had no compunction against forcing her opinions and beliefs on everyone, children included. He was also aware that no matter what the circumstances, there was a fine line between defending his family's honor and becoming the insolent child she had so emphatically insisted he was. The fact that he was dangerously close to crossing that line was not lost on him.

"Why do you wish Mama was married to someone else? Why does it matter to _you _so much?" William was truly curious. Perhaps if he understood her reasoning, he could change her opinion.

Mrs. Busby made a sound that was undoubtedly intended to show her disgust at having been asked to defend her position.

"Miss Swann was such a beautiful young girl, full of so much promise, and even if she hadn't been, her position in society would have made her quite the catch for any man. Everyone who was anyone knew the Commodore was going to propose and that she would be a fool not to accept him. _That _wedding would have been the social event of the season."

Mercedes stifled a laugh as she watched William raise one eyebrow and look at Mrs. Busby like she had lost her mind. She immediately recognized the origin of that expression and wondered if his father was aware of the similarity. She ducked her head and pretended to cough when Mrs. Busby turned to glare at her.

"So that means you don't like me or Papa because you missed a _party?" _ _And was there someone else that had wanted to marry Mama?_

"Don't be ridiculous," she barked, turning her attention back to William. "She could have had everything she ever wanted, and instead she chose to ally herself with a near penniless blacksmith's apprentice with no pedigree at all—and an orphan to boot."

"But Papa's not an…" William stopped abruptly. Was not one of the rules that he should never talk about his Grandfather Turner with anyone other than his parents? And of all the things that Mrs. Busby had said about his papa, why did that one particular thing bother him so much more than the rest of it? Was it because proving her wrong on everything else would be simple, but that single accusation was not? He had known that his father had once been a blacksmith, but what bearing did the rest of it have on anything?

"He's not a what?" Mrs. Busby demanded, coldly.

"He's not an apprentice. I _don'_t think he's a blacksmith either. At least not now." William thought about that idea for a moment and decided to ask his father about that when he came home. _If he still is a blacksmith, maybe he can make me a sword. _

"That is completely beside the point. It was _shameful _that she broke her engagement to the Commodore, and in such a flamboyant manner too. It _ruined_ him." Mrs. Busby sniffed dramatically. Her reaction would give anyone the impression that Elizabeth's actions had caused the older woman severe emotional distress and yet she was in no way connected to anyone involved other than by association.

William's stomach twisted into a knot at Mrs. Busby's words. He was still processing the idea that someone else had wanted to marry his mother, and now Mrs. Busby was saying that Mama had been _going_ to marry someone else. Hadn't Mama told him she had loved Papa since she was a little girl, and wanted to marry him since the first day they met? How could she have agreed to marry someone else? And did _Papa _know? William was only marginally aware that the woman was still speaking.

"…and we were all sure she had been compromised during her captivity. Then to run off with him again without being properly married was just scandalous."

William rested his head on his hands, staring down at the table and began to wonder about what else his parents had told him that wasn't true or had, at best, been left out of the story. The longer he sat, the more bothersome Mrs. Busby's words became. Keeping his eyes downcast, he put his socks and shoes back on, and quietly left the room, leaving their uninvited guest still ranting about who knows what.

Elizabeth continued walking backwards, holding both of Will's hands in hers, leading him down the dock towards the gangplank of the newest addition to their growing fleet. Upon reaching their destination, Will pulled back on Elizabeth's hands to stop her if only for a moment. With a practiced eye, he evaluated the ship from prow to stern, noting everything from the still furled sails, to the as yet empty gun ports.

"It looks a lot like the _Pearl_," Will commented apprehensively, dropping his eyes back to Elizabeth.

"Yes, only not quite so well worn. I just hope it's as durable as the _Pearl_." She tugged at his hands again to lead him on board. "As fast would be nice too."

Will looked at her warily as he obligingly followed her up the gangplank. "Do we _need_ fast?" The memory of his dream about _Corazón_ and the possibility that it had been used for smuggling popped back into his mind.

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side and smiled playfully. "No, not really, but it never hurts to be prepared for all contingencies. Besides, in the import/export business speed can be an asset in more ways than one."

They stopped as soon as they were on deck and looked around. It seemed odd to see the deck completely devoid of any of the normal flotsam and jetsam that would eventually be stashed in every nook and cranny. Both of them wrinkled their noses at the sharp smell of pitch, turpentine, freshly cut lumber and varnish. It wouldn't take long before the familiar scents of the sea took over and brought the ship to life.

"What would you like to see first, Captain Turner?" Elizabeth dropped Will's hands, took a step back and threw hers arms wide, encompassing the entire ship with her gesture.

"Whatever you desire. I am completely under your command today."

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow seductively, her eyes sparkling in amusement. "I could quite easily become accustomed to _that_," she tittered, again taking his hand in hers, and leading him towards the Captain's cabin.

The interior of the cabin was illuminated only by what sunlight shone through the thick panes of glass along the starboard side. The rear wall, paneled in light oak like the rest of the cabin, featured nothing but a closed door, presumably leading to the Captain's sleeping quarters. The bulkhead on the port side also had a door, this one standing open, presenting a partially obstructed view of a hallway beyond. Below each bank of mullioned windows were rows of low cabinets, drawers, and other storage spaces. A large desk had been built into place in the center of the room.

"Well? What do you think?" Elizabeth asked quietly, watching Will's careful survey of the cabin.

His eyes met hers as he nodded his head. "She's a fine ship. Any captain would be proud to have her."

Elizabeth took a step closer to Will and brushed at some imaginary lint on his collar. "Would you?" he questioned hesitantly, dropping her eyes away from his.

"Me?" His surprised expression told Elizabeth that she had caught him off guard. "You did this for me?"

Elizabeth kept her eyes down. "I didn't know what you would want to do after…after what you did. After what you _had _to do." Raising her hand to his cheek, she lifted her eyes back to his face. "I wanted you to have a choice. You didn't before." Her voice was soft and still a bit reluctant.

Will covered her hand with his and drew her hand over his shoulder causing her to move closer still. Elizabeth followed suit with her free hand as Will wrapped his arms around her waist. He gave her a subdued smile as he spoke. "I always had a choice. I chose you." He touched his forehead to hers. "You know that. "

"But you don't have to be anything you don't want to be now. If you wanted to go back to sea then I wanted to make sure that you could – that _we _could. If not, then I'm willing to do whatever will make you happy. I want you to have everything you want."

"I already have everything I want—or at least what I want for now."

"But you agree that things could change?" Elizabeth asked warily.

"Right now I'm content to be here in Port Royal with you and William. One day I think I might like to set off on an adventure with both of you. Actually, I'm _sure _I would like that."

"Then you're not angry?"

"Whatever for?" Will kissed her forehead. "My wife has provided me with my own ship to do with whatever I please. Who could be angry about that?"

"I just didn't want you to think I wanted you to go away again."

"Even if you did, I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise to one extremely important little boy that I wouldn't do that—or at least not without taking him, and _you, _with me."

"I was being foolish, wasn't I?" She sounded as if she found her insignificant worries somewhat amusing now that she said it out loud.

Will grinned at her. "Cautious," he said seriously, in sharp contrast to his facial expression. "It's been ingrained into us for a very long time. It's understandable, so don't let it concern you."

"I won't." Elizabeth returned his enthusiastic smile. "Would you like to continue your tour?"

"I think I would like to see what's through there," he said, nodding towards the doorway at the rear of the cabin.

"_That _would be the captain's sleeping quarters." She tried to sound exasperated with his pretend ignorance, but couldn't.

"Would that be "captains" plural or "Captain's" possessive?" Will tilted his head to one side as he contemplated his options.

Elizabeth exhaled sharply with restrained laughter. "Both, I should think." She leaned in closer to him.

"And what about the cabin boy?" Will rested his chin on top of her head.

"I think the cabin boy's parents would prefer he have his own cabin," she mused, seriously.

"Quite possibly a wise decision. Have you taken into consideration any stowaways?" Will had intended his question in jest but immediately regretted his words, as he felt Elizabeth tense up ever so slightly in his arms. "I'm sorry," he amended instantly. "I didn't mean it like that."

"There's no need to apologize." She moved her head so that she could see his face. Giving him a faintly sad smile she added, "No sign of any stowaways yet, but I'm _trying _to be patient."

"Are you sure? Couldn't it still be too early to tell?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yes, I'm sure." She sounded dejected, but not defeated.

"But how could you…Oh!" Will blushed as he realized what the answer to his question would be. "I'm still learning some of these…_things_," he stammered while Elizabeth began laughing at his embarrassment. Will narrowed his eyes and tried to scowl at his wife. "It's not _that_ funny," he declared in valiant attempt to defend his honor.

"Yes, it is," she giggled while wiping tears of laughter from her eyes with one hand and moving the other to rest on his cheek. "It's just been so long since I've seen you get embarrassed like that." She stood on her toes to kiss him. "I like it."

"I'll be sure to return the favor," he challenged.

"You wouldn't." Elizabeth's voice betrayed her uncertainty about the veracity of his threat.

"I would," Will shot back with a crooked smile and one raised eyebrow. "When you least expect it, I'll get even with you." He moved in to kiss her.

"We'll see," she countered saucily, pulling her head back from him. "In the meantime, might I offer you a truce and continue our tour?"

Elizabeth had no doubt that she did not actually need to show Will around the ship. She knew him well enough to know that he had most likely spent every free minute of his time aboard the _  
Flying Dutchman_ learning everything he possibly could about ships and sailing. It was just how he did things. He had never been a man to let life pass him by, although he had come a bit too close for comfort a time or two –or three. If there was something he needed to learn to accomplish his goals, he had always thrown himself into it whole heartedly, and had apparently done the same over the past ten years – or at least as whole heartedly as a man whose heart was locked in a chest could. Elizabeth certainly couldn't blame him for that.

From comments Will had made, he had found life onboard the _Dutchman _rather dull. The requirement that the _Dutchman _have a captain had been simply that – a captain – one with a living heart. The added requirement that Will's heart replace the one already in the chest had been Davy Jones' own doing. Otherwise, as long as the ship and its crew remained dedicated to its purpose, then all Will normally had to do was just be present on the ship. Granted, he had to ensure that everyone did their jobs, but he didn't have to actually _do _anything himself unless he so chose. Elizabeth couldn't imagine her husband ever voluntarily choosing to remain idle, so his maritime expertise came as no real surprise.

Had Elizabeth not long since become accustomed to a life, other than that of as the spoiled daughter of a politician, she would never have been able to keep up with her husband, and his in depth appraisal of the ship. As it was, Will had managed to insinuate himself into some areas of the ship that Elizabeth was either not able to, or had no intention to follow. Inspecting the cabins, the galley, the gun ports and immediately below deck had been no problem. It was crawling into the cargo holds, and climbing the riggings that she balked at. There had been a time when she would never have thought twice about doing such a thing—but never in a dress, and certainly not where potential clients could see her.

By the time Will was satisfied that he had seen and tested, he had composed a rather lengthy mental catalog of things he wanted added, removed, or modified. As he shared his list with her, Elizabeth couldn't help but remember a time when she was the one who had known more about ships than he had. Who would have guessed that the well seasoned captain in front of her was the same boy who had once been, afraid of the water?

"Were you serious about me naming her?" Will asked, interrupting Elizabeth's reminiscing.

"_Her_?" she answered in a startled voice. "Aren't you getting a bit ahead of…_Oh_! You mean the ship." She shook her head in annoyance with herself. "Yes, she's yours after all."

Will gave her a lopsided grin and nodded his head. "Done."

"Done? What did you decide on?" She took his hand and started heading towards the gangplank. She was more than ready to return home.

This time Will shook his head, but the grin remained firmly in place. "I'm afraid I can't tell you." He followed complacently behind her.

Elizabeth's eyes open wide with shock. It was extremely rare for Will to deny her anything, most especially something as seemingly insignificant as the name of a ship. "And why ever not?" she squeaked, turning to face him as they stepped back onto the dock.

"I think I want it to be a surprise," he said slyly, putting his arms around her.

"This has nothing to do with trying to embarrass me, does it?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and stared at him.

"No, or at least I don't think so. I'm still working on that, actually," he laughed, looking up towards the ship, squinting in the bright sunshine, and pretending to be totally unconcerned about Elizabeth's request.

"Sometimes, Will Turner…" She tried to sound angry as she pushed both hands against his chest in a weak attempt to free herself, but Will just grinned, and tightened his grip all while continuing to look towards the sky.

"I think you'll like it," he promised, finally dropping his eyes back to Elizabeth's. "Now, can we go _home_?"

"You sound justlike someone else I know," she teased.

Will let go a short laugh. "I wonder how that could be?"

Mercedes snuck a surreptitious glance at Mrs. Busby from beneath her downcast eyes, not once missing a single stitch of her sewing, and wondered exactly how long the woman was willing to wait for Mrs. Turner to return home. She could have quite easily have taken her work elsewhere, and left the old biddy alone in the living room, but she just didn't trust her. The way she had spoken to William had not helped matters either.

Mercedes stifled a giggle, thinking of the way Mrs. Busby always addressed her. It was obvious that she thought Mercedes was not much more than a scullery maid, and therefore not worthy of her respect. Since Mercedes knew that was not true, and placed little to no value on Mrs. Busby's opinion, she did not allow it to bother her. What she did find amusing was her annoying habit of speaking very slowly, and raising her voice when addressing Mercedes. No matter how many times someone reminded her that Mercedes both understood _and _spoke perfectly good English, she persisted in her ignorant behavior. _Why ever does she think that speaking louder will suddenly make me understand her? _Truthfully, she did not understand some of the things the woman had said to William, but the tone of her voice had led Mercedes to believe they were neither polite nor complimentary.

When Mrs. Busby had asked—no, _demanded—_to be served tea, Mercedes had scurried from the room, then practically ran to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Lansford. Fortunately, Mary Lansford was well acquainted with Mrs. Busby and her crowd, so no explanation was needed when Mercedes did not stay to wait for the tea tray, but instead ran back inside the house. In just the two or three minutes she was gone, Mrs. Busby had taken upon herself to see what book William had been reading when she had arrived –not that she would have learned anything from it. It would not have surprised Mercedes one bit to catch her snooping around the house. There was no way she could let something like _that _happen.

Even with Mercedes' still limited English when she had arrived in Port Royal with Elizabeth, her son, and Evan, she had quickly figured out that Mrs. Busby pictured herself as some sort of upper crust matchmaker. No matter how often Elizabeth had reminded her that she was already married, the frumpy gossipmonger persisted in her quest to see Elizabeth married to someone more suitable. Frankly, from what Mercedes has seen over the course of the past month and a half, she couldn't imagine anyone more suited to Elizabeth than Captain Turner – _Will_, she reminded herself. Then again, perhaps she didn't quite understand exactly what "suitable" meant to Mrs. Busby. Either way, she was determined to do her best to prevent Elizabeth and her unsuspecting husband, from having to face Port Royal's most annoying busy body unawares.

After finishing a neat row of stitching and tying off her thread, Mercedes secured the needle in the fabric, and set her sewing aside. Smoothing her pinafore, she stood up to walk towards the door.

"And _where _do you think you're going?" As always, Mrs. Busby over exaggerated her words and spoke at twice the volume necessary.

Mercedes bit her lip to ward off a laugh. "To answer the front door, ma'am. It _is _part of my duties," she answered demurely.

"I did _not_ hear anyone knock," Mrs. Busby replied arrogantly, but Mercedes paid no attention to her and hurried towards the front door. Elizabeth and the Captain—_Will_— would be arriving home any minute now, and Mercedes was determined to warn them about their unwelcome and uninvited guest.

Elizabeth's attention was focused entirely upon Will, and as such, she was almost completely oblivious to her surroundings. Will, however, had just happened to steal a quick glance at the house as they came down Carmen Street, arm in arm. The sight of Mercedes pacing back and forth across the front steps, hugging herself, struck him as odd. He knew the girl had a tendency to be a bit flighty, and was sometimes forgetful, but this behavior was strange even for her.

"What is it?"Elizabeth asked, noticing the look of bewilderment on Will's face and turning to look towards the house herself. "What is she doing?" she asked again, amending her previous question.

"I'm sure I would have no idea," Will replied slowly, while dozens of possible scenarios, none of them good, ran through his mind.

"_Mrs. _Turner! _Captain_ Turner!"Mercedes shouted down the street, scurrying towards them, obviously in a state of some agitation.

"Mercedes, what is it?" Elizabeth's voice was a study in controlled panic. While Mercedes still frequently forgot Will's request, and used the honorific "Captain," when she addressed him, it was not like her to use "Mrs." anything, except in the most formal situations. All Elizabeth could imagine was that something had befallen William. "Has something happened?"

"No,ma'am. I mean yes, ma'am, or not yet, I don't think."

"Which _is_ it?" Will asked, sounding irritated, but immediately regretted it. He had forgotten that Mercedes tended to get flustered easily, and that getting annoyed with her, _never_ helped the situation.

The Spanish girl took a deep breath, and pulled herself up to her full five feet, no inches, and began to speak. "Mrs. Busby is waiting for you. She's been here for _hours_. She keeps mentioning some agreement you made with her concerning the Governor?"

"An agreement? Of what sort?" Will was confused.

Elizabeth made a very unladylike sound of annoyance as she rolled her eyes and tilted her head back. She drew a deep breath between her teeth, and exhaled slowly, lowering her face back level with Will and Mercedes. "William," she stated matter of factly.

"William _what_?" his father inquired.

"The day you came home." Elizabeth looked him dead in the eye. "She stopped us on our way to meet you. William told her I would go meet the new Governor, or have tea with him or something so she would let us continue on our way. He was just trying to keep us from being late, but I never thought she would remember it."

Will took Elizabeth's chin in his hand. "_You_ should know better than anyone that she never forgets a thing that might be of some use as far as her meddling is concerned."

"I'm afraid that's not all," Mercedes interrupted hesitantly. She was still a bit uncomfortable around her benefactors when they were so openly affectionate with each other in plain view of everyone else. It was _not _how she had been raised, and as such; she was still learning to adjust.

"Tell us," Will sighed, but kept looking at Elizabeth.

"She upset William. I didn't understand all of what she said, or implied—sometimes I don't understand English as well as I should," she apologized. "But it didn't sound very nice at all. She mentioned something about a Commodore," Mercedes wrinkled up her forehead trying to remember if that was the right word or not, "or something. He left after that and hasn't come back."

"Where did he go?" Elizabeth's voice was alarmed. She began to drag Will towards the house at a very quick pace.

"I'm not sure—his tree, maybe?" Mercedes called after the Turners while trying to keep up.

Will pulled Elizabeth to a stop at the foot of the steps. "You need to calm down before you go in there," he suggested.

"Do I?" she snapped back.

Will was taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Elizabeth, sweetheart, she's always been far too nosy about other people's business, and ignoring the things that didn't fit into her master plan. Besides, you know she's never had any use for me. It isn't worth getting upset for."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with fury as she began speaking. "Isn't it? I spent most of my youth having Mrs. Busby and women like her plot my future for me with no interest in what I might possibly want. And then when it looked like I was going to win, that _I _was going to have the one thing – the one _man_— I always wanted, they spent the entire year clicking their tongues in disapproval anytime they saw us together. Have you forgotten all the whispering? The way they treated you? They decreed you not good enough for their social circle, and set out to make things difficult for us, but I – _we_ survived it. We were going to be married. We were supposed to be happy forever." Elizabeth was breathing hard by the time she took a break in her tirade, but she was not finished yet. "We've literally been to hell and back to be together, and yet when I returned to Port Royal they were _just _the same. They refuse to acknowledge that we're properly married, or even improperly for that matter. They're convinced that I ran off with you, and had been living some depraved and unrepentant existence in some out of the way place. They insist on believing that you left me, alone and penniless, to care for your bastard child. They can say what they want about me, but they_ will. Not. Say. Things. Like. That. About. Our. Son."_ Elizabeth lowered her head, balled up her fists, and shoved them into Will's chest.

Will grunted as Elizabeth made contact. He then nodded for Mercedes to go back into the house while calmly taking Elizabeth's hands in his. "I never realized you had bottled up that much anger towards them. You never said anything before." He kissed the top of her head.

"It's everything. Calypso said we had to pay the price for what we want most. Haven't we paid enough already?" Elizabeth's anxiety level was beginning to lessen. "And what about William? He's an innocent child. He shouldn't have to even be exposed to their lies and insinuations."

"I couldn't argue any of that even if I wanted. But as I see it, we only have two choices. We can keep our heads up and face them down, or we can pull up stakes and start over again someplace new. I'll admit that Port Royal is what I think of as home, but as long as you and William are with me, then anyplace will do."

"I don't want to leave," Elizabeth whispered. She looked back up at Will and forced a very small smile. "I've made a life here for us—_all _of us. I'm not about to let some inconsiderate, ill mannered, dried up, old fussbudget ruin all that!"

"Then it's settled. We just have to calm down a bit and go see what she wants. I won't hurt us to be polite, but firm. She's not going to go away as easily as Mr. Tolliver, so we're just going to have to learn how to deal with her."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "You're right, as always."

"Not quite always, but close," he teased. "Besides, had Beckett and the Company not shown up we were going to have to deal with her anyway. We would just have had the luxury of your father serving as a bit of a buffer." He shrugged his shoulders. "Now, as soon as you're ready, we'll tackle this _together."_

Elizabeth took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, and stretched up to lightly kiss her husband's lips. "What would I do without you?"

"You do quite well, but I'm not going to let you try it again," he laughed and kissed her back. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm as they headed into the house.

Mrs. Busby was quick to take advantage of Mercedes absence and began her inspection of the room. Other people might have said that she was snooping, but she saw her inexpert investigation as something akin to her civic duty. She knew of very few people who had even been invited inside of Elizabeth Swann's house. And that is exactly how she thought of it – as belonging to Elizabeth _Swann. _Mrs. Busby didn't care how many times Elizabeth insisted that her name was now Turner, and had been for a decade. She just couldn't believe that the social climbing upstart that had left Miss Swann, both at the altar, and then in jail would have ever seen fit to make an honest woman out of her. The very thought that Elizabeth had been ravished by him, and then left to raise an unwanted child on her own offended Mrs. Busby's delicate sensibilities. She snapped open her fan, and began to flutter it anxiously in front of her face at the mere thought of how Miss Swann must have been both used and abused.

Mrs. Busby quickly pushed her disturbing thoughts from her mind, and continued to nose around the room. The furniture, although fashionable and well made, was nothing to be envied. The random assortment of bibelots on the fireplace mantle appeared to be nothing but a collection of rocks, shells, and other totally insignificant items_. Most likely collected by that boy._ The swords above the fireplace were a bit unusual too in that they appeared to be well used, and quite possibly even have sharpened blades. Mrs. Busby sniffed in disgust. That was just _not _done. In her world, only the homes of men with an extensive military background should be entitled to such a display, and even then, the swords should be decorative only. They most certainly did not have blades that were chipped and dented from use. _That _would be gauche.

She pressed her lips together in an arrogant sneer as she heard light footsteps enter the room.

"Girl, it is about time that you returned. The tea has gone cold. Fetch me some more," Mrs. Busby demanded haughtily, with a dismissive wave of her hand towards the tea tray.

"I hardly think anyone would believe me young enough to address as 'girl,'" Elizabeth commented. She spoke so softly and sweetly, that Will halfway expected to see honey dripping from her words.

"Oh, my dear Miss Swann," Mrs. Busby gushed, her earlier animosity towards Mercedes redirected, as she practically charged towards Elizabeth. "I was so afraid that you had taken ill or something." She suffered one cursory glance at Will, who stood quietly beside, and slightly behind, his wife, his hand placed possessively on the small of her back.

"And what would cause you to believe something like that?" To anyone else she may have sounded the refined lady she had been raised to be, but Will could hear the venom behind her words. No one trifled with Elizabeth. After all, she had gone toe to toe with the East India Trading Company, the Brethren Court, one disgruntled and sometimes vindictive sea goddess, and who knew what else.

"Why?" Mrs. Busby expressed her undisguised shock at being questioned in such a manner. "Because you missed your appointment with the Governor, of course! And after all, Mr. Busby and I went through to arrange an introduction! The Governor holds Mr. Busby in very high regard, but I'm sure you're aware of that." Mrs. Busby reached forward with her hands to clasp Elizabeth's, but Elizabeth kept her arms firmly at her sides.

Will could tell Elizabeth was struggling to not clench her small hands into fists, but there was really nothing he could do to help her at the moment. Realizing that Mrs. Busby still chose to pretend he wasn't present at all— as she always had—he barely suppressed an amused smirk. It would not have surprised him to learn that she had come to the wedding that wasn't, with the hopes of Elizabeth changing her mind at the last minute, and returning to James, her first fiancé. He bit his lower lip to stifle a laugh. _She's consistent at least._

"I don't recall that I had any such appointment," Elizabeth stated firmly, but still using a mostly friendly tone. _And I don't care what the Governor thinks of Mr. Busby. _She moved slightly closer to Will.

"Dear me! How could you have possibly forgotten? I expressly arranged it for you _weeks _ago. That _boy _said you would be there." She made no effort to disguise her distain for William.

Will glared at her through narrowed eyes. "That _boy_ is our son," he clarified, but to no avail.

Mrs. Busby reaction indicated she had heard him, but she still refused to acknowledge him as she continued on her harangue. "Yes, yes, yes, Governor Selkirk will be a fine catch, and what with you having all the qualifications to make an exquisite First Lady, I can't imagine a better match. We would have to agree on an explanation as to how you came about having a child, but I'm sure we can manage, and oh yes, that horrid Spanish girl _must_ be let go. She is both lazy _and_ insolent, and we can't have that!"

Will slipped his hand from Elizabeth's back to her waist, and held her at his side. He did not have to look at her to know she was again beginning to fume, and with good reason. Her could feel her body tense, and hear her breathing quicken and become shallow. She was angry—_very _angry— and he didn't exactly relish the idea of sticking around to see her explode. It wasn't like he could do anything to help. Even when they were children, Mrs. Busby had not approved of their friendship. Once it went beyond that, she had adamantly refused to accept it – not that it had been any of her business. But as with everything else that happened in Port Royal, she had made it her business, and was still just as relentless in her pursuit of securing a more suitable match for Elizabeth, well more than ten years later.

Elizabeth was beginning to lose her patience. "I know exactly how I came about having a child. Would you like me to explain how it happened in detail?"

Will choked and decided now would be the perfect time to make his exit. He turned his head towards her, kissed her temple and whispered, "I think I should go find the _boy _in question."

Elizabeth turned her face towards his, put one hand on either side of his face and moved in to kiss him full on the lips.

Will recoiled, astonished at her sudden move. Elizabeth was not shy about showing affection, but this was a bit out of the ordinary. "Mmph," he mumbled as he felt her lips part not as an invitation, but more of a demand. He put one hand on either side of her waist as he tried to take over control, but Elizabeth was loath to surrender it to him. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was all for the express purpose of annoying Mrs. Busby, but he certainly was not going to complain. Were not they still making up for lost time together?

Elizabeth's face was flushed and she was out of breath before she finally, reluctantly, broke off the kiss. She smiled faintly and contently, to realize that Will had no more resistance to her charms than he ever had. She kept her face close in to his, staring at him, while he slowly opened his eyes. He smiled back at her, almost imperceptibly nodding his head, assenting to whatever she chose to do next as far as unyielding Mrs. Busby was concerned. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he placidly backed out of the room.

"Will?" Elizabeth asked as soon as he was into the hallway.

"Yes?" he replied, partway expecting some admission of undying devotion to complete the scene.

"You forgot to close the door."

Before closing the door, Will flashed Elizabeth a smile with the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth teasingly. It was something he only did when he was either very happy or thought something was terribly funny. Something gave Elizabeth the impression that this time it was both, and that he might just very well extract some kind of revenge later – _not_ that that was an _entirely_ bad thing.

"As I've told you before, I _believe_ that Governor Selkirk will excuse your youthful indiscretion when I enlighten him as to certain unfortunate incidences in your past," Mrs. Busby pretentiously tried to ignore what had just passed between Will and Elizabeth, but Elizabeth could see through her act, if for no other reason than the recent appearance of the matching red stains of embarrassment on her cheeks.

"And as I've told you _repeatedly_, I am already married. _That_ man," Elizabeth gestured towards the closed doorway, "is my husband, and has been for more than ten years. "

"And I'm sure he would appreciate your offer to serve as hostess at the ball he is throwing to celebrate the anniversary of his first year as governor of Jamaica."

"Are you even _listening _to me?" The more irritated Elizabeth got, the shriller her voice became.

"Why yes, I am," Mrs. Busby responded, "but I was also there the day he left you standing at the altar. I'm afraid that in my book, any man who does that, most especially one who is nothing more than a common laborer, should be forced to relinquish any and all claims to his former betrothed."

"That's not even true. We were _arrested_, in case you've forgotten. And furthermore, no one put you, or your socially acceptable retinue, in charge of deciding the rules for everyone else. Even when I was still considered adequate to belong to your circle, I never cared for your rules. Why should I start now?"

"But we can deliver you from this, this," Mrs. Busby scowled and gestured at the room and its contents, "_mediocrity_. You just have to cooperate a bit, is all."

"Trust me, if I needed rescuing, I could manage quite well on my own. This is what I chose for myself, _with _my father's consent and approval, I might add," Elizabeth spit out haughtily. "Will and I are happy. All we want, all we've_ ever_ wanted is to be left in peace." She huffed, and dropped onto the sofa.

Mrs. Busby blinked several times as she considered the various aspects of Elizabeth's tirade. "Well, I suppose if you insist on being so stubborn, then I shall have to offer my services elsewhere." She pressed her lips together disapprovingly, and raised her chin arrogantly. "But even if you _do _insist upon lowering yourself to life among such common people, the least you could do is attend the Governor's Ball. As the daughter of the former Governor, God rest his soul, it is your duty, like it or not."

Elizabeth looked plainly at Mrs. Busby all the while remembering how much she had loved going to balls and dancing all night. How long _had_ itbeen since she'd had that opportunity? She had to admit that Mrs. Busby was right, in a sense; it was her duty to attend. She could only imagine what Will's reaction was going to be; the stuffy, overly formal events he had been forced to attend, in the months leading up to their wedding, had been painfully dull for him, and now she was about to drag him to another one.

"I suppose you have a valid point," Elizabeth sighed resignedly. "I'll go, but_ only_ out of respect for my father."

Mrs. Busby clapped her hands together delightedly. "This is so very wonderful. I shall instruct the Governor's majordomo to include you among the invitees. I do believe I've already pointed out that Mr. Busby has a significant amount of influence with the Governor?" Mrs. Busby bragged.

"And Will."

"Of course, he will continue to cultivate that influence. He would be mad not to!" It was quite apparent that her husband's connection to the new Governor was Mrs. Busby's pride and joy.

_That makes no sense whatsoever. Is she going to insist Will isn't here still? _Elizabeth looked at the older woman in confusion before sorting out what she had said. "I meant my _husband_—Will or more appropriately _Captain_ Turner. I'm not negotiating that point."

Mrs. Busby flinched at the strength in Elizabeth's voice, and decided it would be prudent to not push the issue. "Very well, yes, of course," she made no effort to hide her disapproval. "The ball is in six weeks. That should be sufficient time to acquire something suitable to wear for you and _him," _she sniffed.

"No doubt," Elizabeth said curtly. "Now if there is nothing more you need to discuss with me, might I show you out?"Elizabeth stood up, and started guiding Mrs. Busby towards the door.

"Why, yes, yes, of course. I can see my own self out actually." She was not accustomed to having her visits forcibly cut short, and was therefore flustered. "I shall bid you a good afternoon and be on my way, then!"

Elizabeth followed behind Mrs. Busby as far as the living room door. She was not surprised to find Mercedes waiting patiently on the other side. She was sure the girl had not been there when Will had left, but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that when she was needed, she appeared unbidden – quite a useful skill around the Turner household. Mercedes nodded to Elizabeth, a half smile on her face, and then directed her attention to escorting Mrs. Busby from the premises in the most efficient but polite manner possible.

Elizabeth glanced up the stairwell and noticed that her bedroom door was standing wide open. She assumed that meant Will had taken the time to change clothes before going in search of William. Her first instinct was to go find the pair of them, but she refrained. Mercedes had told them that William was upset about something, and Will needed to learn that sometimes being a parent meant soothing hurts that were not necessarily physical. Perhaps William could even provide some comfort for his father too. Elizabeth knew Will would never complain, but it had to be disheartening to know that there were still people who treated him with contempt for no reason other than having fallen in love with her and her with him. No, no matter how much she wanted to be with her husband and son right now, she knew it was best that she keep her distance. If they needed her, they would come get her. She quietly closed the living room door behind her, and headed up the stairs.


	22. The Thinking Tree

Will paused in the breezeway between the house and the kitchen and looked out towards the rear portion of the family's compound. He could see his son in his customary place, beneath the same massive oak tree where he had found him his first morning home. William was sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest, one arm wrapped around his knees, and his head bowed. In his free hand, he held a stick, which he was using to draw pictures in the soft gray sand that surrounded the tree's base. His dog, Brigand, lay on the ground next to him, with his huge head resting on his front paws, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

Even Will's still burgeoning parental skills were enough to cue him in that something was bothering William. Any time the boy felt the need to think, he took refuge in the slight hollow at the base of the tree. Normally he could be found sprawled out over the exposed roots, obviously quite content to spend a few minutes by himself pondering the mysteries of his nine-year old view of the world. The way William was sitting gave his father the impression that he was trying to shut out the world instead of trying to take in everything as was his habit. Will found that idea quite worrisome. He shook his head slightly and headed into the kitchen with some small hope of garnering even the tiniest bit of advice from the family's cook.

"She finally crossed the line, didn't she?" Mrs. Lansford asked Will keeping her back to him and not ever once looking up from her work. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she had little to no use for Mrs. Busby and her extremely annoying habit of butting her nose in where it did not belong. The two women had apparently locked horns on more than one occasion.

"Who? Mrs. Busby?" Will knew perfectly well who she meant, but he had not expected her to be quite so blatant about it. Her question had caught him off guard. "I assume so. Elizabeth has mentioned that she's never been overly polite to him, but I have no idea what she may have said to him today. I'm almost afraid to even take a guess."

"I wouldn't hesitate to say that you're about to experience one of the less pleasant parts of being a parent."

"That's not exactly encouraging," Will sighed, picking up two ripe mangos from the bowl of fruit that Mrs. Lansford always kept on the work table in the center of the room.

"You'll do fine. I have _no_ doubts about that," she said firmly. Finally turning towards Will, she picked up a small section of clean toweling and wiped her hands. "Don't forget this," she added, picking up a small paring knife and handing it to him.

Will gave her a hesitant smile. "Wish me luck?" he asked softly, as he headed out the door to look after his child.

William didn't look up or acknowledge his father's approach in any way. Will wasn't sure if it was because he was so engrossed in his thoughts and his art work , or if whatever was bothering him actually did have something to do with Will himself. That thought caused Will to experience the briefest instant of panic, but he quickly settled himself down. Brigand, on the other hand, thumped his tail several times in greeting, but was either too comfortable or too lazy to stand or even just lift his head.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Will asked, looking curiously at the design William had drawn in the sand. _It's an island._

William didn't speak, but only shrugged his shoulders noncommittally while scratching out his drawing with the stick he had been using to draw in the sand.

Will hesitated for a second before taking a seat next to William. _How do I do this?_ He sat with one knee pulled up and the leg closest to William stretched out in front of him,then began to slice the first mango. "What were you drawing?"

"Nothing." William's voice was flat and lifeless. He continued to drag the stick across his makeshift canvas.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" _Should I have been quite that direct with him? _In the six weeks Will had been home, he had never seen William anything other than cheerful and full of life – even when he was in trouble.

William shrugged again and began tracing random shapes where his previous work had been.

_So much for that idea._ Will used his knife to flip the large, flat mango seed off to the side and then began scoring the fruit's bright orange flesh. He then turned back the peel to expose an assortment of individual cubes, perfect for sharing. "Would you like some?" he asked offering the cut mango half to William.

William put the stick down on the ground, stretched out his legs, accepted his father's offering and began to quietly, but messily eat. "Thank you," he mumbled almost inaudibly.

"You're more than welcome." Will began preparing the remaining half of the mango for himself.

Father and son sat in companionable silence, enjoying their snack while frequently pausing to lick the sweet juice off of their fingers. It crossed Will's mind that it had been a good thing he had taken the time to change clothes before he had come outside as he had forgotten exactly how messy eating mangos could be. William was defiantly the more skilled of the two in that respect, having managed to avoid spilling any of the sticky, pale orange nectar on his clothes. Something made Will think that William's unique talent came more from a desire to avoid a scolding from his mother than anything. _It's too bad that knack doesn't work when it comes to dirt. Then he could teach me too._

"Papa?" William started haltingly. "Why does everyone hate me so much?"

Will felt like he had been slugged in the stomach. How long had William been under the impression that no one liked him? Elizabeth had warned him that sometimes being a parent could be painful. This was unmistakably one of those times. Will sat quietly for a few moments, trying to compose himself after the initial shock of William's statement. "No one hates you," he finally managed to say. He turned to look at William, but his head was again bent with his hair obscuring his face.

"Mr. Tolliver does. So does Mrs. Busby."

"They're certainly not _everyone," _Will corrected dramatically. "Mr. Tolliver thinks your mother isn't as subservient as women should be and took it out on you, but you don't have to worry about him anymore."

"What does sub," William hesitated," subservant mean?"

"Subservient," Will enunciated slowly and clearly exactly like Elizabeth had done for him when he couldn't remember _Escondida. _"It means that Mr. Tolliver thinks your mother should do what she's told and not think for herself."

William looked up at his father and giggled. "Mama would _never_ agree to that!"

Will smiled crookedly back at his son. "Trust me; I am well aware of _that!"_ He agreed conspiratorially with William.

"What about Mrs. Busby? She's nice to Mama, even though she calls her by the wrong name, but she's always so mean to me." William pulled his knees back up and wrapped both arms around them this time.

"That was your mother's name before she married me."

William picked his head up long enough to give his father an annoyed look. "I _know _that," he pointed out, then gave his father a silly grin.

"Did Mrs. Busby say you were an…What was it again? An indiscretion?" Will returned his son's annoyed glare in jest. "Your mother and I already told you that's not true." Will tilted his head to one side and smiled at some long ago memory. "We _were_ both a little surprised when we first found out we were going to have you, but it made us happy. We needed that." Will's face turned serious. "I was worried about your mother raising you alone, but we didn't have much of a choice. I promise you that neither one of us ever regretted having you for one single second." Will reached over and ruffled William's hair.

William playfully leaned away from his father. "I know _that _too!"

Will noticed that William didn't sound quite as morose as he had when they had started talking. The fact that he had gotten him to speak at all was an improvement, but he still had no idea what had caused him to seek refuge in his so called thinking place.

"What's a miscreant?" William blurted out.

"A miscreant?" Will verified, not entirely sure he had heard right.

William nodded. The grin that had graced his dirt streaked face just seconds before had disappeared.

"Umm….I suppose you could say it's a person who does very bad things and has no respect for what is right." _Where is this leading?_

William's face took on a look of intense concentration as if he was trying to solve some magnificently complex puzzle. After a few seconds, he also added a frown to the mix. Will waited as patiently as a concerned parent could, while he anticipated the next question that was destined to come or at least tried to anyway.

"Then what's a by-blow?" William chewed on his lip, trying to come up with his own answer.

"A _what?"_ Will snapped.

"A by—"

"I heard you the first time," his father said sharply.

"That's what Mrs. Busby called me today – nothing but a miscreant's by-blow," William sounded reticent. _Maybe I should have asked Mama instead._ His eyes flew open in shock. "She called _you_ a miscreant, not _me_, didn't she?"

"So it would seem," Will commented. He was more concerned with explaining what Mrs. Busby had meant by the rest of her statement. It was no secret that the woman had little to no regard for him. As such, she had used more than one derogatory term in reference to him. Will had refused to let it bother him. She was also entitled to believe what she wanted about what had transpired after his and Elizabeth's interrupted nuptials and unscheduled departure from Port Royal. She could even imply whatever she so chose about the timing of William's conception and birth, but he would _not_, under any circumstances allow her to overtly degrade William to his face – most especially when her accusations were categorically untrue.

"So that means I'm your by-blow, whatever that is," William surmised.

"You most certainly are not," Will replied a bit too forcefully and immediately regretted it the instant the words came out of his mouth and he noticed that William flinched at the anger behind his father's response. Will might very well have learned to ignore the comments of the people who disapproved of his relationship with Elizabeth, but he had never expected their vitriol to encompass his and Elizabeth's children too. And yet here William sat, convinced that there was something about him that people found disagreeable when, in fact, it should never been any of his concern.

Will draped an arm across his son's narrow shoulders and pulled him in to his side. "I'm sorry, I know I sounded angry, but it's not because of you." Will closed his eyes and waited to regain his composure before continuing. "Mrs. Busby was implying that I didn't marry your mother and that I abandoned both of you before you were born." Will felt William's arms tighten around his waist in an awkward hug.

"Don't worry, Papa. I know that's not true," William sighed in relief. "I thought she was saying something _really_ bad, but it was just another thing she got wrong – like Mama's name."

"That would be a very accurate description," Will smirked, picking up the other mango and beginning to repeat the same process as with the other one.

"When did you know you were going to marry Mama?" William released his grip on his father and sat back upright.

_What an odd question._ "I'm not sure how to answer that. Do you mean when did I _ask_ her or when did I know I _wanted _to marry her?" Will looked at William quizzically. "You haven't met the love of your life and are planning on leaving me and your mother, are you?" Will tried to make himself sound concerned, but didn't quite manage it.

William jerked his head towards his father, his eyes wide and horror stricken. "_Papa!_ I'm only _nine!"_ He frowned at his father with narrowed eyes, an expression very much like his mother would make in the same circumstances, as he slowly became aware that he was being teased.

"I was just checking to make sure," Will laughed.

"Mama told me she had wanted to marry you since she was twelve." William reached over and took his half of the now cubed mango.

Will held his breath for a moment then slowly released it. "I'm not sure if that's entirely true, but we were the best of friends from the day we met. She was the first person I saw after they pulled me out of the water. I remember thinking that I had drowned and that she was an angel." He closed his eyes and pulled up the image of Elizabeth that day. The sun had been shining weakly through the smoke and fog, casting an ethereal glow around her. He had been vaguely aware of her speaking to him and recalled thinking how strange it seemed for angels to have last names.

"I can't imagine Mama with wings," William said, startling his father out of his daydream.

Will opened his eyes and wrinkled his nose at his son. "She would probably look rather silly like that, don't you think?"

William giggled. "But you haven't answered my question. Is Mama the only one you ever wanted to marry?"

"That's not quite the same question, but yes. If I hadn't married her I don't think I would have married anyone— which means _you_ would be someone else." Will fought back a smile as the look of consternation on his son's face. It was obviously taking him a minute to process that idea.

William's eyes darted nervously away from his father in another tell tale gesture he had inherited from his mother. This one told Will that whatever the next question was going to be, it was something that William already thought he knew the answer to and yet hoped he was wrong.

"Did Mama ever want to marry anybody but you?" he asked timidly.

"Shouldn't you ask her that instead of me?" Will inquired in an attempt to redirect the conversation. _Where is he going with this? And why is he asking now?_

William got very quiet and began idly picking at his piece of fruit. Will knew there had to be something else bothering him. If he had to guess, it was something else that Mrs. Busby had said and he had a reasonably good idea what it was.

"Is there a reason you asked?" Will kept his voice calm and reassuring.

"Mrs. Busby told me that Mama was going to marry someone else. I think she called him Commodore. Is that true? If Mama loved you, why would she marry someone else?" William was beginning to become agitated. Unshed tears shone in his eyes. "Why didn't you ask her first?"

Will's stomach tightened into a knot and a cold chill coursed through him. He had known that at some point William would more than likely learn of his mother's engagement to another man, but he hadn't planned on him finding out about it quite like this. On the surface, it was one of those things that probably should not have mattered, but Will could remember his own reaction to the realization that his own father had, at one time, been married to someone other than Will's mother. He had been about the same age that William was now, and even after all the intervening years, he could still recollect how painful it had been to realize that he and his parents had never been and never would be the idyllic devoted family he had imagined. What had gone between himself, Elizabeth and James Norrington was not quite the same thing, but it had to be equally as disturbing to William as Will's own awakening had been.

Will drew in a deep breath to refocus himself. "Yes," he said slowly. "That's true. Your mother was engaged to marry a man named James Norrington. He was a Commodore in the Royal Navy."

"But she didn't love _him_, she loves _you," _William insisted.

Will reached over; taking William's small hand in his large, work roughened one. "She did love him, but not the same way as your mother and I love each other. Think of it more like how you love Miss Mary, or Evan, or even Mercedes."

"But they're my friends," he pleaded. It was clear he had hoped what Mrs. Busby had said was not true.

"Commodore Norrington , James, was your mother's friend too. He loved her very much. They would have been content together." Will winced internally at the memory of how close he had come to losing Elizabeth before she had ever been his to lose.

"But _why _didn't you ask her first?" William was growing more and more distressed by the moment. What his father had meant by him being born someone else was quickly becoming clear.

Will leaned back, looked up into the branches of the oak tree, and tried to collect his thoughts. How did one explain to a child the rules, restrictions, regulations and expectations that had been – and still were—such an integral part of society in Port Royal, most especially a child who had been raised to treat everyone as an equal? If just the very idea that his mother had almost married someone else upset him this much, how was he going to react to the cold, hard truth of his parent's early life— or at least from the time they had arrived in Jamaica on.

"William," he hesitated for a moment. "Life for your mother and me, when we were children, was very different than what it's like for you. Your mother comes from a very wealthy family. They have titles and land back in England…"

"I know," William interrupted. "I met Great-Grandmother Swann when Mama and I went to England. She's really old."

"I would imagine so," Will laughed before turning serious again. "My family was very poor. We didn't even have our own home. My mother raised me by herself because your grandfather was never around. When I came here, it was just assumed that I was an orphan. Even _I _began to believe that after a while. Had your Grandfather Swann not arranged an apprenticeship for me, I would probably have ended up a beggar – or worse."

"But what does that have to do with you not asking Mama to marry you?"

Will sighed heavily. "Had I not met your mother the day I was rescued, I would never have known her. She was, and still is I suppose, a member of the most elite social class in Jamaica, while I had no family or future to speak of. I was nothing but a common tradesman. Not even that really—I was an apprentice, but because we had become friends during the remainder of the crossing we were allowed to see each other sometimes—not much, but sometimes…" An unexpected smile bloomed on Will's face. "We used to pretend we were hunting pirates and would fight them with wooden swords."

"I want a sword," William slipped his request into his father's explanation.

"Maybe when you're older."

_It was worth a try and he didn't say no. _"I still don't understand why Mama wanted to marry someone else."

"I never said she _wanted_ to. She just agreed to. After all, it _was_ what everyone expected of her." _And she was trying to save me. _

"I didn't think Mama ever did something just because someone expected her to. Wouldn't that make her sub…sub…subservient?" William beamed proudly at using his new word.

"She used to do at least most of what she was told, and that's part of why Mrs. Busby doesn't like me, but we'll get to that part later." Will ruffled William's hair. "Where was I?"

"Pirates!" William reminded his father enthusiastically.

Will shook his head at his son and rolled his eyes. "_Anyway_ – when I turned sixteen, your grandfather Swann had someone take me aside and explain to me, in no uncertain terms, that it was _beyond_ inappropriate for your mother and I to be friends, for no other reason than our difference in class. I was instructed to _not_ seek her out and to put any thoughts of continuing our friendship, on any level, out of mind. If I did see her by chance, then I was to address her as Miss Swann and I was to ensure that we were properly chaperoned at all times." _Please don't ask who gave me that lecture, it would just complicate matters._

"Why?" William retrieved his drawing stick and began aimlessly poking it into the dirt.

"Because it would be unseemly and possibly damaging to her reputation to be on familiar terms with someone like me." Will imitated Mrs. Busby's haughty intonation as he spoke.

"Unseemly? That's a funny word." He looked at his father and grinned.

"It is, isn't it?" Will nodded in agreement.

"You didn't really call Mama Miss Swann, did you?"

"Yes, I did. I've almost always done what was expected of me too and although most of the exceptions to that normally hadsomething to do with your mother, _that _wasn't one of them."

"She didn't complain that you stopped being her friend?"

"I never stopped being her friend." Will put his hand on his son's shoulder. "We just had to be friends from afar. And yes, she complained that I called her Miss Swann. She would always ask me how many times she had to remind me to call her Elizabeth and I would always answer 'once more, as always, Miss Swann.' I never had the chance to tell her why things had changed and I don't know if I could have even if I wanted to."

"But now she knows why you did it, doesn't she?" It was readily apparent that William found this tidbit of information disturbing.

"Yes." Will nodded slowly. "I told her."

"But she still knew you loved her," William sang teasingly.

Will exhaled sharply and shook his head. "No, I never once told her how I felt until the day they were going to hang Jack. It wasn't my place. It would have been inappropriate and I honestly didn't have any hopes of her feeling the same way."

"Why did you tell her that day?" William spoke quietly. He could tell that, although his father was willing to answer his questions , thinking about that time made him sad. He briefly considered stopping his inquest, but his curiosity won out – as it always did. Unlike his mother, he had not yet learned not to surrender to almost any temptation.

Will swallowed hard. This was the part he really would rather not tell William, but he and Elizabeth had agreed that their "no secrets" pact had to include him too. Besides, maybe things would be easier for him if he understood why some people treated the pair of them, and sometimes Elizabeth too, with less respect than they deserved. "Like I already told you, they were going to hang Jack, even after what he had done to save me _and_ your mother. I knew your mother didn't think that was right and neither did I. Despite all his faults, Jack is basically a good man. He just loses his way sometimes."

"Mama says he loses his way a lot," William corrected.

"She's probably right about that," Will chuckled. "I…" he stumbled over his words. It hurt far worse than he had imagined trying to say it aloud. The fact that he was having to tell his own son what he had assumed the outcome of that day would have been, did not help matters any. "I couldn't let Jack die for doing what was right, so I decided to try to save him. I was sure that I would most likely die in the process, but I didn't care. I didn't want to live without your mother." Will closed his eyes as his voice started to break. "At best, I hoped I would succeed in freeing Jack and then join his crew. That way I would never have to see your mother married to someone else." He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at William.

William's face contorted as all the implications of what his father had said, sunk in.

Will stroked his son's hair, and looked him directly in the face. Everyone else claimed that William looked just like him, but when he looked at the boy, all he could see was Elizabeth. "But I decided that if I was going to die that day or leave forever, I wanted your mother to know I loved her, so I told her. Right there, in front of your grandfather _and_ Commodore Norrington," he said grimly.

"Did she tell you she loved you too?" William inquired hopefully.

"She didn't say anything then or at least I don't think she did. I didn't wait to see, because I had to save Jack." Will smiled crookedly. "She did look a bit taken aback though." He winked at William.

"Mama told me about you helping Uncle Captain Jack escape, but she didn't tell me _that_ part!" William looked at his father with one eyebrow raised curiously. "She said she helped. Is that true?" He sounded like he doubted his mother's claim.

"Umm, yes, she did, but I think I would describe it as more of her saving _me_. Jack just got lucky on that count."

"She's done that quite a lot, hasn't she?"

Will laughed. "You _could_ say that, but she's never complained and she would do the same for you – probably before she would me."

William reached over and hugged his father. "I would save you, Papa."

Will wrapped his arms around the boy. "I know you would_." I think you already have._

"What happened after Uncle Captain Jack fell into the sea?"

"With Jack? I really have no idea."

"Nooo, with you and Mama!" William corrected, exasperated with his father and his playful evasion of the topic at hand.

"What do you think happened next?" Will teased. He was finding it enjoyable to jokingly torment his son.

"You asked her to marry you, right then!" Will announced confidently, straightening up to lean against the tree.

"No." Will shook his head. "Do you want to take another guess?"

"No," he sighed. "Just tell me."

"All right, if you insist. James – Commodore Norrington stepped aside so that your mother and I could be together."

"All you have to do is take a step?" William asked uncertainly.

Will stifled a laugh. "No, it means he let your mother break their engagement, but we still had to win over your grandfather. He wasn't overly enthused at the idea of his only daughter marrying a blacksmith's apprentice."

"How did you make him change his mind?" William pushed in an attempt to get his father to continue the story.

"That's another story for another time.'

William narrowed his eyes at his father. Much like his mother, he was never overly thrilled at the prospect of having to wait for something. _Maybe if I ask him something different he will continue the story. _"What happened to Commodore Norrington? Did he marry someone else?"

Will decided that although what had happened to James after that day wasn't exactly a secret, there were some details that there were best left unsaid. There was, however, part of the story that William was entitled to know. "No, he never did." Will stopped for a moment and considered how to continue. _There is no way to make it sound any less tragic than it was. _"He died – on board the _Flying Dutchman_ – trying to help your mother escape."

"Did he still love Mama?"

"Yes, I'm sure he did."

"And he still helped her even if she wanted to marry you instead?"

"Yes, because he was her friend. Don't you do things to help your friends?" Will reasoned.

"Yes." William thought for a few seconds. "Was he your friend too?"

_No, not then. _"Yes, I suppose he was."

"Why didn't you help her escape, and what was she doing there anyway?"

"I wasn't there then and I'm afraid that may be another story for another time too."

"That's not fair," William complained unenthusiastically. He had expected that answer, but he had to try.

"That's just how it works sometimes," Will said, tweaking William's nose, playfully.

"How did he die? Did Davy Jones kill him?" William noticed that his father's face suddenly grew very serious and the mischievous twinkle that was so often in his eyes had disappeared.

"Yes and no." Will shrugged. "He did leave him to die and took his sword,_ the same sword he used to kill me,_ but your grandfather is the one who was responsible for his death."

"Grandfather Swann?" William sounded perplexed.

"No, Turner." Will was surprised at how much it still pained him to admit that.

"Didn't Grandfather Bootstrap know who he was and what he was doing to help Mama?"

_Part of the ship, part of the crew. _"I doubt it. There wasn't much of him left by then. He didn't even know me at first on the day that…" Will self-consciously touched his chest where Bootstrap had carved out his heart. He was aware that William noticed the gesture by the little boy's involuntary shudder.

William placed his now dirty and sticky hand over his father's while it remained covering his heart. "It's all right, Papa. I understand now –I _think_."

"So does that mean you're all better now?" Will asked hopefully, but not entirely convinced that it was true.

"I'm still not sure why Mrs. Busby doesn't like me," William confessed.

"She doesn't like me either. Before your mother and I were supposed to get married – the first time – she used to pretend I was not even there and would only talk to your mother…actually, she still does." Will made a face fraught with mock horror at that revelation.

"That's silly," his son immediately concluded.

"I know. She used to speak to me when I was still just the blacksmith, but after I started courting your mother, she decided I no longer existed. I guess she had nothing better to do with her time than to plan out everyone's lives for them, according to rules that only she knows."

"Before you came home, she was always trying to find Mama a husband. She pretended she didn't hear Mama when she would say she already had one."

"She's still trying." Will rolled his eyes. "I think it offended her delicate sensibilities to believe such a fine, young lady would settle for a mere tradesman." Will again imitated Mrs. Busby's self-important manner of speech.

William laughed at his father's mimickry of the town's most incurable gossip and meddler. "I just don't know how to make her leave me alone. I don't like it when she says those things about you and me." A look of sadness and pain formed in his eyes.

Will chewed on his lower lip, thinking. "I might just have an idea how to fix that, or at least make it not so bad. I just don't know if it will work," he casually noted.

"What?"

"Can't tell you yet. It's a secret."

William groaned. "Why is everything either a secret, I'm not old enough or it's another story for another time? It's not fair."

"It won't be a secret for long. I just need to work out some details first. Then I promise I'll share with you."

"Before you share with Mama?" William had unmistakably inherited his mother's gift of negotiation.

"Of course! But then it will have to be _our_ secret. Can you do that?"

William nodded and leaned back against the tree, evidently satisfied with that answer, but not quite done with his interrogation. His father was a captive audience for once, and he was determined to take advantage of it. "Papa? Are you still a blacksmith?"

Will was rapidly becoming accustomed to his son's apparent non-sequiturs and didn't noticeably react to the unexpected change of subject. "I don't know. I mean, I still know how and I did some work on the ship, but I'm a bit out of practice. I'm not sure what I want to do now."

"But you're not leaving again, are you?" William sounded truly concerned.

"Your mother asked almost the same thing this morning," Will observed. "And the answer is no, never—or at least not without you and your mother." _And anyone else who might come along. _

"I think I would like going on an adventure with you and Mama," William announced optimistically.

"I'm not sure how much of an adventure I'm up to, but I think something can be arranged." Will noticed the change in William's expression that always gave him away as plotting some new boyish scheme.

"Can you tell which way is north just by looking at the stars – like, maybe because you didn't have a compass or something?"

_And where is he headed now?_ "Yes. You know that." Will wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"Will you teach me?"

_Is that all? _"Of course. You knew _that_ too," Will pointed out. "Why don't you and I go camping on the beach one night and I'll teach you," he suggested.

"Tonight?" William responded expectantly.

"No, not tonight. If we're going to do something like that, we need to give Miss Mary enough warning ahead of time to pack us some supplies. We might want to tell your mother too." Will added conspiratorially.

"She's not coming with us, is she?" William asked tentatively.

"Miss Mary? I don't think she likes camping."

William knew his father was playing, but he rolled his eyes anyway. "No, I mean _Mama."_

"I'll just tell her it's man stuff and that she's not invited. How does that sound?"

"Do you think it will work?" William didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Don't know. We'll just have to wait and see."

"If Mama doesn't go, can we go swimming?"

_What an odd way to ask. Why would it matter if Elizabeth was with us or not to go swimming? _"I don't see why not, and even if she does come with us, we can still swim."

William's face fell. "No I can't. She won't let me in the water or at least not in salt water."

Will looked closely at his son's face, sure that he would see one of the telltale signs that he was trying to make a joke, but there were none there. "Don't you know how to swim?" he asked disbelievingly. Surely Elizabeth would have made sure that their son could swim, especially considering how much a part the sea played in all of their lives.

"I can swim," William said proudly. "I'm a good swimmer. Mama just won't let me get in the water because of the tide or something like that."

"Why not? That doesn't make any sense." Will shook his head trying to unravel this new piece of information.

"I'm not sure. I overheard her once telling Aunt Rebecka something about someone stealing me or drowning or something. I don't know," he sounded frustrated at his inability to answer his father's question. "You'll have to ask her. She always tells me it's none of my concern, and then reminds me to stay out of the water."

"I still don't think that makes any sense, but I will ask her….Wait, this isn't going to be another situation like the boots is it? Where you know what the answer is already and are just trying to set me up?" Will asked suspiciously.

"No sir. I promise," William answered solemnly.

Will looked towards the house and noticed Elizabeth standing near the dining room windows. He could tell by the way she was standing with her arms crossed, rocking slightly back and forth on each foot, that she wanted to join them, but was resisting the temptation, albeit just barely. He could imagine that it must be difficult for her to not immediately rush to William's rescue as she always had. It had to be a struggle for her to be patient enough to allow him his first uncertain forays into being a parent. The fact that she had managed to leave them alone for this long spoke volumes about her confidence in Will's untested abilities in this particular arena.

"That's settled then. I'll talk to your mother this afternoon or tonight. Now, is that all or is there anything else you would like me to discuss with her on your behalf?" Will asked earnestly, truthfully not expecting any more requests.

William's eyes glimmered with mischief and longing as he flashed his father a sly grin. "Well…" he started, "There is _one_ more thing I would like."

"Which is?"

"A little brother," he blurted out.

"_That again?" _Will began laughing. "You don't give up, do you?"

"No, sir. I don't like being the only one of my friends without a brother."

"You do know that if you got one, he would just be a tiny baby and it would be years before he could keep up with you." Clearly, the negotiations had started up again.

"I know, but I still want one." William looked at his father, his face looking far more serious than any nine-year old's should. "I promise I would help take care of him."

"This isn't like getting a dog, you realize? It's kind of a long process and there's always that possibility that you might end up with a little sister instead."

"_WHAT?_" It would seem that William had never considered that possibility. "But I don't want a little sister, I want a little brother. Can't you make sure that's what I get?"

Will snorted. "Umm….no," he said flatly. "It doesn't work that way. I'm _sure_ about that too, so don't get your hopes up that I'm wrong. Besides, don't you think you should consider what your mother or I might want?" Will raised one eyebrow curiously.

"I guess so, but I don't like girls. Moira and Amelia are so annoying sometimes, and they're never any fun," he whined.

"You might change your mind about that someday," Will chuckled. "Have you forgotten that your mother is a girl?

"_Papa! _She's not a girl, she's Mama."

"Sorry. I stand corrected." _I can't wait to hear Elizabeth's reaction to that bit of information._

"So, can I have one or not?"

Will pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his knees and looked towards the house where Elizabeth was still standing by the window. "Your mother and I have talked about it and yes, we want to have more children, but we'll just have to wait and see if that happens or not." He turned his head to look at William. "And if God chooses to grant us another child, then we'll have to take what we get and be happy about it." He reached one hand over and held William's chin. "Do you think you could do that?"

William nodded solemnly. "I think I just have one more question."

"You _think_ there's just one more? Should I be prepared for more, just in case?" He dropped his hand to his side.

William giggled. "I know babies grow in their mama's tummies, but how do they get there?"

Will blinked several times. How he could not have anticipated that question was a mystery to him, but the boy had taken him by surprise. "Ummm…" he stalled.

William rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. "I know, I know. It's another story for another time or wait until I'm older, isn't it?"

"Both?" his father asked, silently relieved to have dodged an explanation. He nodded towards the house. "I think your mother is waiting for us. Shall we go in?"

He stood up, dusted himself off and offered a hand to his son. William echoed his father's actions, grasped his father's hand, and headed back to the house where the one woman they both loved more than anything waited for them.


	23. What's Done Is Done

_What's Done Is Done_

Elizabeth sat alone in the bedroom she shared with Will, burrowed in to one of the overstuffed chairs that surrounded the fireplace, reading a book. Reading for pleasure wasn't one of those things that she'd had much of a chance to do in recent days, so she had seized the unexpected opportunity to do so. At first, she had enjoyed the peace and quiet, but now it was beginning to wear thin. Will and William had been outside for what felt like hours, and the temptation to join them was almost more than she could bear. But she knew that the pair of them needed time away from her, much as she needed time to herself. It wasn't their fault that she still worried about both of them almost constantly. And after all that they had been through—both as a family and apart—who could blame her for being a little overprotective?

Will was still learning how to be a father, while William was having to adjust to the idea of having two parents to rely on—something neither she nor Will had ever really had much of. From her perspective, both of them seemed to be doing an admirable job adjusting to their newfound roles, but neither of them had asked her opinion. She considered asking Will how well she was adjusting to her still relatively untried role as a wife, but thought better of it. She giggled at the thought of the expression on his face were she to ask.

No matter how hard she tried to stay focused, she could no longer bring herself to concentrate on the words printed on the page. Heaving a sigh, she snapped the book shut, and dropped it carelessly onto the small table that separated the two chairs. She stared into the empty space where a fire would normally be burning, if it were not so incredibly hot, and replayed the afternoon's confrontation with Mrs. Busby in her head.

It bothered her, even after all these years that she still allowed the bitter old woman to get to her. Will apparently had always had the ability to ignore Mrs. Busby, or anyone for that matter, and had taken her insults and insinuations with a grain of salt. She supposed he had developed that particular skill at a very young age, considering his rather unorthodox upbringing. It had not ever occurred to her, until late in their courtship, how much pride in his accomplishments and confidence in himself it had required on his part to not give up on the future they both wanted. Even now, there were times that she felt guilty about all of the sacrifices he had made, and obstacles he had overcome, for no reason other than he wanted to be with her, while she had faced nothing more than being the subject of the hushed gossip of bored socialites.

None of Will's achievements had come easily. He had worked hard all of his life, and was prepared to continue to do so should that be what was required of him now. In retrospect, it was sometimes possible to believe that the worst of the ordeals that Will had had to overcome had taken place long before Cutler Beckett had come into their lives. From Will's perspective, their ten year separation must have paled in comparison to what had gone before in his less than idyllic life.

There were times when Elizabeth could almost convince herself that the time they had spent apart was more of a test of _her_ loyalty, faithfulness and love, than it ever had been for Will. He had always been single-mindedly and unfalteringly driven towards whatever goal he had set for himself, while she had pursued nearly every whim, with little to no thought given to possible consequences. After fate and circumstance had waylaid the plans they had joyfully made together, Elizabeth had spent countless hours fretting that something would go wrong. Will had never discounted her fear, but he never encouraged it either. In all things, as he had always been, Will was her rock, the source of her strength, and the sole reason she had persevered through all of her own obstacles.

Elizabeth rose from her chair, adjusted the skirt and bodice of her dress, and proceeded downstairs, not yet sure if she planned on continuing to wait for her husband and son, or to go in search of them.

Mercedes was seated at the dining room table with all of the family's silver arrayed in front of her. Elizabeth watched her meticulously polish each piece she picked up. Such tedious work would have caused Elizabeth to run screaming from the room in a matter of minutes, but Mercedes seemed to have a knack for allowing her mind to go other places while her hands continued to work.

As was quite often the case, Mercedes did not look up from her task, nor did she offer any sign that she was aware of another person in the room. Elizabeth was always hesitant to interrupt her when she was like this, although she honestly had no idea why she shouldn't. Perhaps it was because it was during moments like these that Mercedes would frequently make one of her odd pronouncements or perhaps it was for no reason other than it seemed rude to interrupt her. Either way, Elizabeth never spoke first when she stumbled across Mercedes in this state. On more than one occasion, such reticence on Elizabeth's part resulted in oddly fortuitous information being shared by Mercedes.

Elizabeth crossed the room and stood by the window. She could see Will, William, and the dog, seated beneath what William referred to as his "thinking tree." From her vantage point, they seemed engrossed in serious conversation. She caught the concerned expression on Will's face as he briefly looked up at her. She smiled faintly back at him even though she was sure he couldn't see her do so. Something about the way he had looked told her that her best course of action was to wait for the pair of them to come back inside. Whatever it was that had upset their son was serious, or at least it was serious in the mind of a nine-year-old.

"I can't tell if it's the kind of company that would require the good china and silver or not."

The unexpected statement startled Elizabeth. She turned from the window to look at Mercedes, noticing that the girl was still concentrating on her task. At least she was now aware that she wasn't alone in the room.

"I usually can tell at least that much detail, but not this time, so I suppose it's best I have everything polished and ready just in case."

Elizabeth noted that the statements didn't really seem to be directed at her, or for that matter, directed at anyone at all. "Mercedes?" she asked softly, hoping not to startle the girl as she had been. "Are we having company?"

This time Mercedes looked up. "Yes, ma'am. I do believe we are," she answered thoughtfully. "I'm just not sure when, and I have no idea who, but _someone_ is coming." She tilted her head slightly as if she was trying to hear some distant sound. "They're not staying very long," she added hesitantly.

"That's certainly not enough detail to give Mrs. Lansford as a warning!" Elizabeth commented laughingly.

Mercedes flashed her a grin, her impossibly white teeth standing out against her olive skin. "I suppose it's a good thing that she doesn't mind last minute surprises." She examined the fork she had been polishing. "And that I'm here to help her when need be."

"I would have to agree with you on that point. I guess it's just one more thing for me to be thankful for. I would certainly be of no use on that front."

'They're coming in now."

"What? Our mystery guests?" Elizabeth sounded utterly bewildered. "Isn't that rather quick?"

Mercedes lowered her head back to her work with a laugh. "No ma'am, I mean William and his father."

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, spinning around to face the glass doors, just in time to watch both Williams Turner regain their feet, dust themselves off, and head towards the house, hand in hand. She watched delightedly as her son tried valiantly to match his father's long, easy stride only to have to almost scurry to keep up.

"What are you laughing about, Mama?" William asked upon entering the door.

"You, of course," she replied, smoothing back his stray curls as he hugged her tightly. "And to what or whom do I owe thanks for such an enthusiastic greeting." To outside appearances, the ferocity of his hug would make it seem as if the boy had not seen his mother for days instead of mere hours. Elizabeth worried that the overzealous greeting was a by-product of his earlier distress.

"I love you, Mama."

"And I love you more than anything," she responded automatically, noting the odd sense of urgency and almost desperation in the boy's voice. Something about it gave Elizabeth the impression that he needed reassurance, but about what she did not know. Elizabeth cast a concerned glance at Will, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The look in his eyes was all she needed to verify that there was something seriously bothering their son. It almost took more restraint than she could muster to not question her husband then and there about what had transpired between him and William. But she knew that her husband was probably the only person alive who could outstubborn her if he so chose. If Will didn't think that this was the time or place for such a conversation, then it simply wouldn't happen. It was a trait that she often admired, although sometimes it could be dreadfully annoying.

"Do you love me more than you love Papa?" He looked up at his mother, eagerly awaiting her answer.

The question startled Elizabeth. She dropped her eyes from Will's face to that of her son, an unmistakable look of astonishment blazoned across her own face. _What an odd thing for him to ask._

"Hmmm," she started, stalling for time while she thought of a suitable answer. "I would have to say it's about the same, although you might be a _little_ ahead of him." She tried to make herself sound carefree and cheerful, but she knew Will could see right through her guise, even if William could not. Sometimes it was rather bothersome to know he could read her so well.

"That's encouraging," Will sighed dejectedly, but obviously trying to follow Elizabeth's lead.

William looked at his father and giggled, but remained with his arms wrapped securely around his mother's waist. "Why do you love me more?" His serious tone had returned.

"Yes, _why_? I think I would like to hear that answer too," Will interjected. Yet another small, but stifled laugh caught his attention. He had completely forgotten about Mercedes sitting at the table polishing silver he hadn't even known they owned.

Elizabeth lifted her son's chin tenderly with her hand. "I think it might be because I've known you all of your life and I've only know your father part of his." _And because you're the best parts of both of us_.

"Oh," William said, sounding disappointed, having hoped for some far more mystical answer. "Have you ever loved anyone more than you love Papa? Other than me, I mean."

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth glanced back at her husband, a look of complete shock and bewilderment on her face. Will did not meet her eyes, but instead stared at a point over her shoulder. Will's reaction, more so than William's question, alerted her to the fact that whatever the pair had been discussing, it somehow related to a past that should never have been any of her son's concern. _Exactly what did Mrs. Busby say to him?_

Returning her attention to William, she stooped down to be eye level with him. "That's certainly an odd question!" She struggled to keep her voice light and cheerful, in spite of the curiosity that was about to best her. "But the answer is no, I've known your father so long that I can't remember not loving him. And _you_," she put a palm on each of his cheeks, "are proof of that." Although she could not see his face, she knew that Will had returned his attention to her. _Surely he wasn't worried about my answer, he knows that. _Whatever had distracted him was something else entirely.

"Mama?" William asked, nodding his head in agreement with what his mother had told him. "I'm tired. Can I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room?"

"Are you sick?" Elizabeth put one hand on his forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever. Do I need to send Mercedes for the doctor?"

"Nooo," he whined, pulling back from her. "I told you, I'm just tired. I want to take a nap."

"And apparently quite cranky too, from the sound of it." Elizabeth kissed his forehead and released him. "Run on upstairs then. I'll call you when it's time to eat."

William did not even take the time to acknowledge what his mother had said as he dashed towards the stairwell and quickly vanished from view.

"What did you do to him?" Elizabeth inquired, straightening back to an upright position.

"Nothing," Will answered, wincing at how sharp his voice sounded. "Nothing," he repeated, more softly.

Elizabeth looked at him worriedly. Something clearly had him distracted as well, but for the life of her, she could not even fathom a guess as to what it could be. "He never takes a nap unless he's forced to, he's sick, or he thinks he needs to stay up later than normal for some reason." She wasn't sure if Will even heard her since his attention was apparently focused on the spot where William had disappeared from view. She sighed as she continued, "Neither of us told him he had to take a nap, and he isn't sick. Did you say something to him that would make him think he needed to stay up?"

"Hmmm?" Will mumbled, distractedly, turned his attention back to his wife. "He asked me to take him out at night and teach him to read the stars, but not tonight."

"Are you sure about that? He does have a way of misinterpreting things on occasion. Especially when it's something he's impatient to do. "

_He gets that from me. _"Yes, I'm sure…or at least I think I am…No, actually, I'm not," he answered, slightly chagrined.

Elizabeth covered the space between them and placed one palm on each cheek, just as she had done with their son. "Perhaps you should go check," she suggested.

Will covered left hand with his right, turned his head and kissed her palm. He knew without looking that her eyes closed as he did so—they always did. "I think perhaps I shall, and since I'll already be upstairs, I think that I may have to lie down for a while myself. It's been a long day." He turned his face back to Elizabeth just in time to see her reopen her eyes. "Will you join me?" he mouthed, silently.

Elizabeth swallowed and nodded her head slightly as a thousand questions began to race through her mind. She dropped her hands to her side and watched her husband bound up the stairs in a nearly identical fashion to the way their son had, only moments before. "I don't think I'll ever learn how to handle that boy," she said to no one, forgetting that Mercedes was still in the room.

"Which one?" the girl asked with yet another tiny laugh. "I think one is just a taller version of the other."

Elizabeth turned towards the table, a smile breaking across her face. "I think you're quite right on that count. You would think that, having known the one for so long, I would know how to deal with the other."

"Oh, no ma'am. I remember my mother," Mercedes stopped to cross herself, "my mother, she said they're all different, the children are. Just wait, Miss Elizabeth, when she gets here, she'll be completely different from him."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow and stared at Mercedes. "When who gets here?"

"Pardon? I'm afraid I don't know what you're asking."

"Mercedes, you said 'when she gets here.' Who are you talking about?" The feeling that she had just heard another of Mercedes' somewhat ambiguous predictions was beginning to form in Elizabeth's soul.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I don't remember saying that, but if you say I did," Mercedes shrugged her shoulders, "then I suppose I did."

"I see," Elizabeth responded, very slowly and quite disappointed. Had she been hoping for Mercedes to predict that she would have another child, or was she just beginning to see signs and portents where there weren't any?

Mercedes looked towards the stairs. "He needs you, you should go to him."

"William? I'm sure Will can take care of him."

"No, Captain Will, _he_ needs you."

"Is this another one of those _things_ that you can see?" Elizabeth wiggled her fingers dramatically in her best imitation of someone casting a spell.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and laughed loudly this time. "No, ma'am. Captain Will doesn't get distracted very easy, unless he's worried about something. He was thinking about something he thinks is important. He looks…_different_ when he does."

Elizabeth looked back towards the stairs for a moment before turning back to Mercedes. "I believe you're right. So if you'll excuse me?"

Elizabeth paused for a moment at the top of the stairs. The door to William's room was firmly closed, while the door to her own room stood slightly ajar. Whatever last second clarifications Will had needed to make with William about their upcoming adventure had been completed in short order. Otherwise, she was sure William's door would still be standing wide open. No matter how many times she reminded Will to keep the doors closed, he never seemed to remember to do so. Then again, she supposed it was possible that whatever was bothering their son had required some more private time with his father.

She briefly considered going to check on William, but quickly discarded the impulse. Will was doing a more than admirable job of being a parent. The last thing he needed was for it to look like she was checking up on him. Fighting to keep her curiosity at bay, she gingerly pushed the door to the master bedroom open just far enough for her to slip inside. The mystery of her husband's whereabouts was immediately solved. Will was slouched in the chair that she had only recently vacated. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his arms hung freely at his sides, and his head was tilted back resting awkwardly against the back of the chair, with his hair, still neatly queued, trailing down the back.

Even though Will had the ability to fall sleep in the blink of an eye, Elizabeth didn't think he was now, no matter what his appearance suggested. Nevertheless, she approached him quietly, placed one hand lightly on each of his shoulders, and bent over to kiss his forehead, all while sliding her hands down over his chest. She was not surprised to feel one arm rise, to be followed by the gentle touch of his fingers on her neck.

Will sighed, and opened his eyes. "You can do better than that," he murmured, pushing himself upright in the chair but keeping his legs stretched in front of him.

Elizabeth moved to the side of the chair, running her fingertips lightly over the muscles of his chest as she moved, until both of her hands were, in effect, pushing him back into the chair. Their eyes remained locked as she made her slow progress. She noticed the faint hitch in Will's breathing as she leaned forward to kiss him again, this time with a bit more fervor. An indistinct moan of contentment escaped her throat at the feel of his hands sliding down her back. Her right hand moved to the chair back for support a split second too late to avoid Will pulling her inelegantly into his lap.

"I wasn't expecting that," she gasped, wriggling, somewhat less than gracefully, into a more comfortable position with her arms wrapped securely around Will's neck.

"Then you must not know me as well as I thought," he mused.

"I like that there's always something new to discover about you." Elizabeth canted her head to rest her forehead against his.

"I could say the same," he sighed, locking eyes with his wife.

"So," she asked, staring, unblinking, into his dark eyes. "What _were_ you and William talking about for so long? I thought you were never going to come back inside."

"Man stuff. Just like we told you this morning."

Elizabeth could tell by the twinkle in his eyes that he enjoying the fact that he was privy to at least some of their son's secrets that she was not. She leaned back from him and tried her best to look disinterested, knowing all the while that Will knew her well enough to see through her ruse, as always. "That excuse barely worked this morning when you were both trying to cover up for having an incurable sweet tooth, but it's not going to work this time. I know he was upset about something. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to resort to more intense interrogation techniques?" She eased one arm from around his neck to rest on his side, where she knew he was the most ticklish.

"I don't think you'll have to resort to such drastic measures just yet." He reached up with his right hand and began pulling the pins from her hair, keeping his eyes focused on her face, or more specifically, on her lips.

"But are you implying that I might have to at some point?" she asked, shaking her hair free as the last pin came out.

Will's eyes slowly drifted up to hers. "Probably not," he replied, suddenly much more serious. His gaze drifted away from her face. Almost absently, he ran his fingers through her hair, allowing the strands to flow between his fingers like water. "There are some things we need to talk about. I'm just not sure where to begin. I haven't sorted it out in my own head yet, so I don't know what to tell you or to ask you." Will sighed heavily, pressed his lips firmly together, and looked back at his wife.

Elizabeth moved her hand back up to caress his cheek. "Maybe William had the best idea already. It's hot, we're both mentally and physically exhausted. Perhaps we should follow his lead, and rest for a bit? It would give you some more time to think, and I _promise_," she gave him a quick kiss, "that I won't do anything to distract you."

Will nodded in agreement and helped Elizabeth to her feet, but remained slumped, unmoving in his chair. Elizabeth watched him drift off into his own thoughts for a moment before retreating to her vanity and dressing area.

"Will? Would you mind helping me out of this dress?" she asked, turning back to face the sitting area.

"Did not you just promise to _not _distract me?" Will asked with a laugh, standing up from his chair and walking unhurriedly to where his wife was waiting.

"I could always call for Mercedes to help me instead if you prefer," Elizabeth taunted, knowing as she said it what Will's response would be. Instead of waiting for him to think of a suitably impertinent reply, she turned her back to him and held her mane of unbound hair out of the way. A slow smile spread across her face at the delicate pressure of Will's fingertips, stroking her slender neck before meticulously, and with almost unbearable slowness, began to unfasten the seemingly endless parade of tiny buttons down the back of her gown. She exhaled slowly as he reached the last button, moved his hands to her waist and lightly kissed her exposed shoulder.

"Who's distracting whom?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly, as she leaned back into Will's embrace.

"Are you complaining?" He lightly nipped at her neck.

"Of course not!" she blurted out, as she straightened up. Beginning to stammer, she amended, "I think I can take it from here."

"Your choice," he whispered into her ear and pulled back his hands.

"Not the choice I would prefer," she said softly, smiling at him in the mirror, "but anything concerning William always comes first."

Will chuckled quietly, and backed away from the vanity so that he could watch Elizabeth unlace her stays. "Because you love him more than you love me?"

"Just a little, but I'm sure I already pointed that out to you." Elizabeth continued to watch the reflection of Will's steady backwards progress towards the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief as she was finally able to remove the constricting and uncomfortable stays. Now clad in just a sleeveless shift she sat at the vanity and began brushing out her hair, which Will had so graciously removed the pins from just moments before.

Will plopped down on his side of the bed and began to remove his boots and socks. "You know it hurts to hear that?" He made himself sound as if his pride was wounded beyond repair. The complaint was punctuated by one boot hitting the floor.

Elizabeth grimaced at him in the mirror. "You know it's only because you're the reason I have him. He's the greatest gift you've ever given me." The other boot bounced off the floor.

"I suppose if you put it that way, then I love him more than I love you too. It works both ways." He punched his pillows into a suitable head rest, before stretching out on the bed with his hands locked behind his head.

Elizabeth laid down her brush, stood up and crossed to the bed. She stood next to it with her hands on her hips, looking more than a little perplexed. "I hadn't thought of it that way." She made her way onto the bed and stretched out on her side, facing Will.

Rolling over towards Elizabeth's side of the bed, Will moved his right arm from behind his head, reached around Elizabeth's shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "My point exactly."

Elizabeth shifted closer to Will so they lay face to face. "My answer still stands."

"I was afraid of that," he said, skimming his hand from Elizabeth's shoulder to her hip.

"Now what—other than the usual—did that God awful woman say to William that upset him so?"

Will exhaled sharply. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Was it that bad?" Elizabeth asked, more concerned than she had been.

"To a nine-year old boy, who's been through what he has and possibly seen worse? Yes, I would say so."

"I'm sure that she started with telling him that he was illegitimate, she always does."

Will scowled at the memory of what their son had told him. "She wasn't quite so eloquent about it. She told him that he was a 'miscreant's byblow' or something close to that. I can't say I enjoyed explaining exactly what that meant."

"He knows that's not true, and he should be used to her refusal to accept that we're married."

"He knows that, but if someone tells you something like that enough, sometimes you begin to believe it." Will moved his hand to the small of Elizabeth's back and pulled her in closer still. "But that's not the problem."

"Then what, pray tell, is?" Elizabeth ran one foot up Will's calf.

"She told him about James," Will hurriedly spat out the words.

"_JAMES_?" Elizabeth sounded incredulous. She pushed herself up on one elbow and away from Will, dislodging his hand in the process. She stared at him in hopes that by some remote chance he was merely teasing her. "What purpose could there possibly be in _that_?"

"Purpose? To her it was just another salvo in her ongoing battle to discredit me or whatever her current agenda is." Will reached up and stroked one finger along Elizabeth's jaw line.

Elizabeth covered his hand with her own, pulled it away from her face, and kissed his palm. "What did she say?" she asked, her initial shock now gone.

"She told him that you were going to marry him."

"That's true, but I didn't. I married you." She laid her head back on the pillow and snuggled up next to Will. "Like I had always wanted."

"She told him that you _should_ have married him, that I wasn't good enough for you, and that I publicly humiliated him—" Will looked away from Elizabeth, suddenly uncomfortable with the memory of that day.

"If anyone should take the blame for that, it should be me," Elizabeth interrupted, as she took her hand and turned Will's face back towards hers.

"Everyone could have taken some responsibility for what happened that day. We've been through all that before. There's no point in rehashing it."

"But she's forcing us to," Elizabeth tried to point out.

"No, not quite. It's just not something I had anticipated having to explain to William today…maybe ever." He reached up to stoke Elizabeth's hair as he thought about the circumstances surrounding Elizabeth's broken engagement. How could either of them ever have thought that standing up for what they believed was the right course of action concerning Jack, would eventually lead to them being able to freely express their feelings for each other? It had been and always would be one of those things that almost defied explanation. And further still, how could they have anticipated that the outcome of that single event would one day have the potential to make their son's life miserable?

"I should have told him when we came back here," Elizabeth said, pulling Will back into the present as she spoke. "At least then he would have been told the truth the first time. I should have known someone would tell him if I didn't."

"No, you were right not to. It's something we should have done together, but it's over and done with now."

"I just don't understand why knowing about all of that would upset him so much." She reached out and scooped up the collection of trinkets he habitually wore around his neck, and pretended to examine them closely as she considered how much of what had happened in her life still haunted her and her family.

"Elizabeth, after your mother died, were there ever any other women in your father's life?"

"Of course not! He always told me that she was the only woman he ever loved." Elizabeth wondered where Will was heading with this apparent change of topic.

"Then I wouldn't expect you to understand." Will shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't quite understand what it is that I'm not supposed to understand."

"He's worried that you loved someone other than me." Will shifted to accommodate Elizabeth's incessant wriggling as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

"And how is that relevant?"

"That's what you don't understand."

"I'm afraid you lost me again." Elizabeth began to drag her fingertips slowly over Will's chest.

Trying to think of a way to explain the situation to someone who had never experienced anything remotely like what had William concerned, Will sighed and grimaced. "When I was about six or seven I overheard my parents arguing about my sister. Bootstrap accused my mother of causing her to leave."

"Did she?" All Elizabeth knew of Rebecka's relationship with her stepmother was that it had been strained at best, and that at the age of sixteen, Rebecka has set out on her own.

"Perhaps. I'm not really sure. No one ever mentioned her after that. Up until that day, I never even realized that she was my half sister. I was so young when she left that I guess I never really considered otherwise." Will put his hand over Elizabeth's and laced his fingers through hers.

"And how does this relate to William?" Elizabeth remembered Rebecka once saying that she didn't blame Meg Turner for their difficulties, but she had never elaborated on the subject. In that respect, she was quite like her younger brother. Sometimes the only way to find your answer was to dig for details—details that were even then only sparsely dispensed.

"I didn't want to believe that my father had ever loved anyone other than _my _mother, much less been married to someone else. I was too young to even consider that he had married either of them out of convenience or even if he _had _married both of them." Will rolled over onto his back and stared silently at the ceiling.

Elizabeth considered for a moment asking Will if he had ever asked Bootstrap about his first wife, Rebecka's mother, but then quickly decided that he couldn't possibly have. Otherwise, she was sure he would have mentioned that one unsettling detail about her that Elizabeth had inadvertently learned so many years before. Besides, the main focus of her concern at the moment was their son. "I _think _I understand," she said slowly, again raising herself up on one elbow so that she could see Will's face. "What did you tell him about James?"

Will rolled his head towards Elizabeth. "I told him the truth about everything." Will watched Elizabeth carefully, trying to anticipate her next question, but when the expected question was not forthcoming he continued. "Elizabeth, please don't take what I'm about to say as criticism, it's meant as a compliment."

"That's not a very auspicious beginning," she commented.

"Because of the way you've raised him, he doesn't understand that there are certain rules and expectations imposed on people because of who they are, what they do, or where they were born. He's just as comfortable playing with a barmaid's children as he would be with the Governor's children— if he had any, that is. For him, everyone is an equal."

"Which is the way it should be," Elizabeth interjected a bit more forcefully than she intended.

"I won't argue that." He released her hand and began to play with her hair once more. "It's difficult for him to grasp that had you not thrown convention to the wind, _we _wouldn't be—that you would have married James like you were expected to and I would not been able to _do _or _say_ anything about it."

"I don't like to think about that."

"Neither do I." He eased his hand to the back of her neck. "But there will always be Mrs. Busbys and Mr. Tollivers who see William as some sort of anomaly. By their definition he's some sort of social pariah for no reason other than his father isn't their social equal. I think the way they treat him is their way of reminding him to not forget his place."

"But it's a place that only they see." Elizabeth gave in to the gentle pressure on her neck and leaned her face closer to that of her husband.

"Exactly, but no one ever explained that to him. He just thought people didn't like him and when Mrs. Busby started in on him today, it was just the last straw. I imagine he had much the same reaction to what she told him about me as I did when Jack first told me that my father was a pirate, and I was a good bit older than nine." He smiled at Elizabeth, pulling her closer to kiss her.

Elizabeth eased back from Will just enough to speak. "I should have explained all that to him long ago."

"No." Will kissed her again. "_We _should have done it together, but it just didn't work out that way."

Elizabeth laid her head on Will's chest and closed her eyes. "Will? I want him to know about James, not just about the broken engagement, but everything; what he did for us and what it cost him—_please_?" Elizabeth had been reluctant to ask, not being sure what his answer would be. After all, he and James Norrington hadn't seen eye to eye on most things, and she had been at the top of that particular list. But hadn't Will told her long ago that she should never be afraid to ask him something?

"He should," Will gave his consent without hesitation. "He's a good man."

Elizabeth lay very still, not making a sound, trying to decide if Will had simply misspoken or if his use of the present tense was intentional. _I watched him die. Did Will see him on the other side?_

Will immediately realized what he had said and quickly changed the subject. "She also implied that I was perhaps being less than truthful about my occupation."

"In what way?" Elizabeth recognized that Will was trying to distract her, and no matter how curious she was about his reason for referring to James Norrington as if he were still alive, she knew that she shouldn't push him for an explanation. If there was one, he would give it to her in due time.

"She told him I was a blacksmith—not even that, she told him I was still an apprentice."

"But you _are_ a blacksmith. William knows that, so what was her point?"

"Am I?" Will's voice was hardly above a whisper.

"Are you what?"

"Am I a blacksmith? I tried to maintain my skills as best I could when I was…when I was away, but it's not quite the same. Besides, it's not like I have any place to set up shop."

"Would you like that?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"To have my own shop? I don't know. I suppose," he sighed. "I'm just not happy not doing anything, and I refuse to go back to sea. That was a choice that was forced upon me. I don't have to choose it again."

"You have a place with the shipping company," Elizabeth suggested, knowing full well that he would not be content with that type of work either.

Will wrinkled his nose in disgust at that suggestion. "That's yours, as it should be. I'm more of a craftsman than a merchant. I'm not ashamed of that."

"You shouldn't be. No matter what anyone else's opinion may be." Elizabeth rolled away from Will, just far enough that she could focus on his face. "When would you like to start?"

"I don't have a place to work, and even if I did, I don't have any tools. It took a long time to get the ones I did have."

"They're still there, right where you left them, in fact. I remember how particular you always were about putting everything back where it belonged."

"I can't imagine working with Mr. Brown again. Or rather doing Mr. Brown's work for him again." Will rolled his eyes at the memory of the perpetually drunken blacksmith who had been both his foster father and his mentor.

"You don't have to. The shop is yours. It has been for years. Father bought it from Mr. Brown as a wedding gift for us." Elizabeth watched Will's face carefully, not sure of how he would react to that news. There had been a time when his pride would not have allowed him to accept such a gift.

"But that was so long ago. Surely Beckett confiscated that along with everything else."

"He did, but I fought long and hard to recover nearly everything that I lost—that _we_ lost. The smithy is yours, if you want it."

Will looked deep into Elizabeth's eyes, his expression far too serious for her tastes. Then the faintest hint of a smile began to form. "Yes, I very much want it. When can we go see it?"

"We? It's not mine, it's yours—all _yours_." She was relieved that he was not disturbed to learn that Weatherby Swann had taken steps to ensure that his daughter was taken care of, albeit not in the style to which she was accustomed. Elizabeth had never doubted Will's ability to do so. Her father had been another story entirely.

"I know. I can't imagine what you would do with such a thing, but I still want you to go with me this first time. There are lots of…" his voice trailed off. "There are lots of memories there, some good, some not so good. I want you there with me when I face them."

"Of course. You know I would do anything for you." She moved her face closer to his.

"And I would do the same for you; you know that, don't you?" The look in his eyes left Elizabeth with no doubt that he meant what he said. Then again, she had always known that about him, but it was reassuring to hear him say it out loud.

"I always have." She kissed his chin. "Is tomorrow too soon?"

"No, I think that would be perfect." Will rolled abruptly, causing Elizabeth to land flat on her back on the mattress.

Elizabeth squeaked in surprise at the sudden change of positions. Reaching up to drape each arm around his neck, she watched his expression carefully, trying to determine if there was something else he needed to talk about or if his intentions had strayed along a different path. The bemused look on his face left her undecided as to where things were now headed. Will continued to stare back at her, apparently trying to make up his own mind.

"Did he say anything else?" Elizabeth finally asked, breaking the silence.

Will flashed her a grin, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. "He put in another request for a brother. It would seem he's a bit jealous of his friends in that they all have siblings, most especially that they have brothers."

"You did explain to him that this isn't like getting a new puppy? Just because he wants one, doesn't mean he will get one." The underlying emotional current of her reply gave away her desire for the same thing. _If only it were that simple._

Will began to laugh as he broke free from Elizabeth's embrace and rolled back onto his side. "Trust me, he knows it's a bit of… a bit of a process, shall we say."

Elizabeth looked horrified. "Excuse me? But what _exactly _does he know?" Images of what their son might unwittingly have stumbled across flashed through her mind.

Will reached out and rested on hand on Elizabeth's abdomen. "He said he knows that babies grow in their mother's stomachs, but he wanted to know how they got there in the first place." Will smirked at his wife in anticipation of her reaction.

Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "He's nine. He doesn't need that many details yet. Please tell me you didn't explain—what was it you called it?—the _process _to him?"

Now it was Will's turn to blush ever so slightly. "Of course not!" He choked out. "I told him that _you _would explain it to him when he was older."

"You _WHAT?_" Elizabeth blurted out, shifting to face Will again. As she moved, Will allowed his hand to move from her stomach to her back and pulled her in close. "Will Turner, I think I'll have to insist upon _you _taking on that responsibility," she added firmly.

Will began laughing again. "I was just teasing you. I did actually tell him that explanation would have to wait until he was older, and while we were discussing that particular topic, I did reiterate to him that should there be another one, there are no guarantees that we'll have another boy."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. "And how did he take that news?"

"He didn't say, but I think he chose to ignore it. I decided it was best to just leave it alone until such time as it truly becomes an issue."

"Soon." Elizabeth reopened her eyes and moved in to kiss Will.

"Soon," he responded, meeting her halfway.


	24. Rain Delay

_Rain Delay_

The unexpected sensation of cool air on her skin prompted Elizabeth to snuggle closer to her husband. Her eyes flew open the second she realized Will was no longer in the bed. A brief flicker of panic gripped her, before her still groggy mind grasped that, although he was no longer lying next to her, he couldn't have gone far, for the sheets and his pillow were still warm. She pushed herself up on one elbow to survey the still mostly dark bedroom. She exhaled a soft sigh of relief as she spied Will standing in front of the French doors—his arms crossed across his bare chest and his sleep tangled hair hanging loosely about his shoulders—staring out at the rain.

Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, standing motionless and apparently lost deep in thought. She pushed back the remaining covers—inhaling sharply at the shock of the abnormally cool morning—and reluctantly forced herself from the cozy haven of her bed. Will never once offered any sign that he had noticed any movement or sound other than the rain pounding outside. That oddity alone was enough to cause Elizabeth some concern, if for no other reason than the fact that for as long as she had known him, Will had always been acutely aware of his surroundings. He could hear the slightest sound or sense the minutest movement under nearly any conditions. She had never questioned why that was, but had merely accepted it as part of who he was. For that she was grateful, for this singular talent had saved their lives on more than one occasion. That he didn't even seem to notice her at the moment was unusual indeed.

Stepping up behind Will, Elizabeth gently wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. He did not speak, but Elizabeth heard his contented sigh as he moved his hands to cover hers.

"Come back to bed," she murmured tentatively, almost as if she was afraid to break the silence.

After what seemed to be an interminably long pause, Will answered, "In a bit."

"Might I ask why you're out of bed this early?" She turned her hands to intertwine her fingers with his.

Again, he took longer than normal to answer. "No good reason."

Elizabeth noticed the near complete lack of conviction in his voice. "Is there something bothering you?"

Still another pause. "No," he replied slowly, sounding unconvinced by his own answer.

"So you expect me to believe that?" Elizabeth lightly kissed his back—taking care to avoid his scars—before lifting her chin to rest on his shoulder.

Will chuckled softly. "No," he said again, but this time sounding like he _was_ sure of himself. "I just wanted to watch the rain." Almost as an afterthought he added, "I missed it."

"You missed the _rain? _It rains here so often, I can't even imagine it's possible to miss it."

"This is the first time since I came home. I was almost getting to the point that I was beginning to wonder if…" Will hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he should or even _could_ tell Elizabeth why it suddenly seemed so important to him that it was raining.

"To wonder if what?" Elizabeth ventured.

"If I was still _there_ and not _here_, but it's raining, so I must be here."

Elizabeth released her hold around Will's waist and stepped back from him. She swallowed hard in an effort to keep herself calm. Although she still hadn't the vaguest idea as to what was bothering Will, she was sure that the source of his disquiet had something to do with his sojourn in the land of the dead. She had not pressed him for details concerning his ordeal, but instead had allowed him to share what he chose—when he chose. It hadn't taken more than a couple of days to learn that when Will referred to an ambiguous "_there" _he meant the place he had spent the last ten years.

"Don't leave," Will blurted, jerking his head around to face Elizabeth, his voice tinged with panic.

Elizabeth smiled uncertainly. "I won't, not ever—you know that," she said, stepping back to him and placing her open palm on his cheek then gently caressing it. He had always been so meticulous about his appearance that it was still a novelty to Elizabeth to feel the stubble on his face before he had a chance to shave.

Will snaked his right arm around her waist, and roughly pulled her to him. Almost before she had a chance to react, Elizabeth found herself pressed tightly against Will's chest with her back to the pounding rain outside. With minimal effort, she managed to tilt her head back far enough to look up at Will, who was again staring out at the wet and wind.

"It doesn't rain there. It doesn't need to. Nothing's alive there," Will said emotionlessly.

Elizabeth thought she was beginning to understand what had caused Will's concern, but was still not entirely certain. "But I remember you mentioning horrible storms."

"Yes, but they were just wind, lightning and thunder. There was never any rain."

"I seem to recall an inordinate amount of rainfall during a certain hurricane," Elizabeth said slyly. Her efforts were rewarded with a faint smile and a kiss on the forehead, but Will was clearly still mostly lost in his own little world at the moment.

"I remember that night quite fondly," he said, nuzzling the top of her head. "But that was on your side, not mine."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, contemplating whether or not, to just this once, push for more of an explanation. Some unidentified quality to the tone of Will's voice gave her the impression that this time he _wanted _her to ask for details. She decided to take that chance—if her intuition was wrong, then he would let her know. It was all just part of the process of learning to function as one half of the whole they formed as husband and wife. They were each bound to make mistakes and misjudge the other on occasion, but that didn't mean they had to like it, nor did it mean they would quit trying to not make the same mistakes again.

"Will? Why doesn't it ever rain there? I thought you said things weren't much different than they are here."

Will exhaled sharply through his nose. "I guess I shouldn't have said that it _never_ rained, it does sometimes. It's just on rare occasions…like when someone crosses back…to stay. I'm not really sure why that is, but I did have a theory." He looked down at Elizabeth and gave her a crooked smile.

"And this theory would be…?" She tried to maintain a carefree tone to her voice, however inside she was anything but. Whatever Will was about to tell her, wasn't one of those interesting tidbits he dropped in passing. This was something significant—something that had obviously been on his mind for quite some time.

"Nothing can survive without water. It's almost more important than food . But even in my," he faltered before continuing," _condition_, I didn't need to eat, drink, sleep, or anything of that sort, and I had to be the closest thing to alive there. Why would there be any need for fresh water?" He hugged Elizabeth closer to him. She was beginning to think that if he held her any tighter that she would start to hear her own ribs cracking, but she didn't complain. She sensed that he needed the reassurance that just holding her close could provide.

"I suppose that makes sense, but what of the ocean?" She continued to hide the fact that she didn't like where this revelation seemed to be leading.

"What of it? That's what I meant when I said it was like here. It looked like every ocean we've sailed, just an endless expanse of salt water. But I think we could have sailed on it for eternity and never have known if we had been the same place twice. Nothing is fixed in position there. When we had collected as many souls as we could ferry at one time, the island—or whatever it was—appeared on the horizon and disappeared almost as soon as we cleared the bay."

"I assumed it rained when you crossed back?" Elizabeth worked her arms free just enough to allow her to drape them around Will's neck.

Will flashed her a bright grin. "Of course. It was a horrific storm or at least it sounded like it. I didn't stick around to make sure."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as his attempt to lighten the subject matter, but continued her trek towards discerning what was bothering him. "Did you think…did you think you weren't really home because it hadn't rained here?"

Will looked back over her head to stare out the window panes again. "I don't know. Maybe. There's still some small part of me that is afraid that I'll have to go back and leave you again. I don't think I could survive it this time."

"I wouldn't _let_ you go," Elizabeth said, firmly.

Will rested his chin on top of her head. "I think I finally understand what drove Jones to the extremes he went to. He really did love Calypso and yet she betrayed him repeatedly. I know how much it hurt to be separated from you, yet I never had any reason to doubt your loyalty."

Elizabeth nestled in closer into the hollow of his throat. "I can't say that there weren't times when I wasn't quite so sure of myself—not that I thought about giving up. I would never have done that, I never even considered it—but sometimes I wasn't sure I was strong enough to make it." She drew a deep breath. "Sometimes, the only things that kept me going were that I knew you would never knowingly, or willingly, abandon me… or William. I _needed _him more than you know."

"Oh, I think I know. Just knowing he_ existed_ made it less unbearable some days." Will loosened his hold on Elizabeth, moving his hands to rest lightly on her waist. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. The physical wounds may have healed, but the emotional ones are still a bit raw."

"I understand," she whispered softly.

Will swiftly and unexpectedly, swept Elizabeth into his arms. She squeaked in shock at suddenly finding that her feet were no longer on the floor. "What are you doing?" she laughed.

"Didn't you request that I come back to bed?" he asked mischievously.

"That I did, but I don't need to be carried there. I can walk quite well, thank you." None the less, she wrapped her arms firmly around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Are you complaining? I could put you down if you like," Will teased.

"Absolutely not." She occupied herself kissing his neck and jaw as he carried her to their bed. She squealed again when he unceremoniously tossed her onto the mattress. "What was that for?" she demanded with mock indignation.

Will shrugged his shoulders and crawled into the bed beside her. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Elizabeth obliged his unspoken request and rested her head on his chest, listening contentedly to the steady rhythm of his heart beating from within, but noticing that it was beating slightly faster than it should. _Is there still something worrying him? _ Elizabeth knew that her only viable course of action was to abide by his request to _not _talk about his experiences. He would reveal those secrets to her as he was able, and no amount of curiosity on her part was going to change that.

However, knowing that, accepting that, and not allowing it to worry her, were all mutually exclusive. She _did _worry about Will, almost constantly in fact. There were so many things he had been forced to deal with, and even more he had chosen to lock away. As long as he faced them with the proverbial one step at a time, she had no doubt that _they _could handle most anything. Her fear was that something unanticipated would lead to Will being overwhelmed by it all, and then who knew what would happen?

She stroked the smooth muscles of his chest and tried to think of all the things that he was having to adjust to. They had both correctly anticipated that the first hurdle would be to fit back in to his family, and thus far, that had gone remarkably well, but what they hadn't considered was how difficult it had proven to be to fit back into daily life among the denizens of Port Royal. She had no doubt that part of his concerns this morning dealt with the intended trip back to the smithy today. So many of the events that had directed the course of their lives were both directly and indirectly tied to the now abandoned shop.

"Why won't you allow him in the water?"

Elizabeth had been so intent on her own thoughts that at first she hadn't realized Will had spoken, much less had any idea what he had said. "What?" she asked, her voice overly curt.

Will briefly considered what could have been the cause behind Elizabeth's abrupt answer, but quickly abandoned that line of thought. If the mere thought of talking about his experiences were disturbing to him, then wasn't it likely that hearing of them was just as disturbing to her? "William. He told me that you won't allow him in the water— or at least not in salt water. Why is that?"

Will felt, rather than heard, the catch in Elizabeth's breathing as she rolled away from him to rest on her left side with her back to him. He pushed himself up on one elbow and reached out to touch her shoulder, noticing that she had crossed her arms protectively across her chest with her hands balled into fists. He recognized it as the position she frequently resorted to when she had something to tell him, but either did not know how to start or would rather avoid the topic all together.

"Elizabeth?" Will moved closer to her and wrapped an arm around her. An appalling fear began to emerge in his mind that her reasoning for keeping their son away had something to do with a never before mentioned belief that Will would take him to the other side. "Elizabeth?" he asked again, this time a bit shakily. "I would never… I couldn't…I…"

It took Elizabeth a moment to decipher what Will was implying. The very idea that he could ever believe that of her was disheartening, but she hadn't exactly offered him any other explanation so who was really to blame here? "Oh God, no! It's not what you're thinking. Even had the worst ever happened, I would have implicitly trusted you with him." Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. "It's because of _her."_

"Her?" he asked. "I'm afraid I don't follow." _Has everything this morning been a riddle?_

"Tia Dalma. Calypso. Whatever name she goes by now," Elizabeth responded, her anger—towards the heathen sea goddess, not her husband—beginning to build. "It's because of her."

Will could feel Elizabeth starting to tremble, not from fear, but from fury. "If it's something you're not comfortable talking about, I'll understand. I can't ask you to offer me that latitude and not allow you the same."

Elizabeth rolled over in his arms to face him. She smiled feebly, unknotted her arms to allow herself to delicately stroke Will's face. "But it's not the same," she said very quietly. "We cannot keep things from each other that concern William or any other children we may be blessed with."

"Is this something that happened with Calypso recently?"

Elizabeth looked away for a moment, then returned her eyes to Will's. "No, it's something I should have told you long ago, but at the time it seemed so easy to avoid—fix…I don't know—that I somehow never got around to it. At first, I think it was because I never knew when or if I would get to see you and if I did, I never knew for how long." A roguish grin appeared on Elizabeth's face. "I'm afraid I had other…_things_…on my mind," she confessed.

"I can't say that things on that account have changed overly much," Will laughed.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and half heartedly tried to shove Will away from her. "Are you _complaining_?"

Will kissed her quickly on the forehead. "Never. Now are you going to explain about William, the water and Calypso or am I going to have to resort to more aggressive interrogation tactics?"

"Can I have a moment to consider my options first?" she asked impishly.

"No." His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Elizabeth sighed dramatically. "Very well, if you insist," she said, pushing him onto his back and returning to her original position with her head resting over his heart. "When he was very small, I used to carry him to the beach as often as I could. We played in the water, collected shells, built castles in the sand, and talked to you." Elizabeth paused for a moment. "I know that sounds foolish, but it was the best that I could do. It made me feel less lonesome, and I liked that William knew you were out there somewhere and believed that you could hear him."

Will put his hand over the one she had splayed on his chest and entwined his fingers with hers. "And then something changed?"

"Yes. One day, when he was a little more than three, we were chasing the waves as they washed ashore. I can still recall the way he sounded when he laughed. It's different now that he's older. Anyway, he and I were playing like we always did, and she just appeared out of nowhere, standing on the sand. I remember that the way she looked at him scared me. It was almost like she wanted him for herself. I don't remember what I said or even if I _did _say anything." Elizabeth tilted her head to look awkwardly up at her husband, trying to gauge his reaction to her tale thus far. Seeing that he apparently didn't find her story terribly unusual as yet, she again lowered her head to his chest and continued. "We stood there staring at each other for a long while before she finally spoke. I _do _remember exactly what _she _said."

"Which was?"

"_Take care, Elizabeth Turner. The tides will come one day to claim the boy for its own purposes,"_ Elizabeth quoted in a moderately accurate imitation of the former Tia Dalma's distinct accent. Returning to her own voice she added, "Then she disappeared, and just to make sure that I didn't attribute it all to an overly active imagination, she left literally dozens of crabs skittering in the sand where she had been."

"I really, _really _hate crabs," Will commented, breaking the tension that had been slowly building.

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "I don't blame you, and as a matter of fact, so do I." She grew serious again and finished her story. "After that, I wouldn't let him even so much as touch the water anymore. Considering everything I…_we…_have seen her do, I didn't want to take her warning lightly."

"Why haven't you told William this story?"

"I don't know. He never questioned my reasoning, so I never really needed to. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure he didn't remember the entire incident himself. He certainly remembers other things from when he was that age."

"Are you sure she said 'for its own purposes'?"

"Of course, I'm sure. Trust me; if someone threatens your child where you can hear it, you _never _forget it."

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that it doesn't make any sense. What purpose could tides have?"

"I know you're thinking that I was over protective with him, that I smothered him, but Will, he was all I had. I don't know what I would have done if…"

Will could hear the tears building in her voice. Even now, the emotional trauma they had all been through was still very close to the surface. He knew that it would improve in time, but for now, it was still an open wound. "Elizabeth, you did what you needed to for you and for him— even for me. If anyone implied otherwise, it wasn't their place to do so. You did a remarkable job raising him… considering. I know it wasn't easy, but it would seem that he's quite resilient—just like his mother."

"_Considering?" _ Elizabeth pushed herself up to stare Will directly in the eyes. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to make you pay for that one, Will Turner," she laughed and reached for where she knew he was the most ticklish.

Will eluded her attack and laughed with her. "You know what I meant. Now. I'm still tired, it's too early to get up and _you _are the one who wanted me to come back to bed. I'm going to assume that you meant to sleep and not other _things_?"

"Is that _all _you ever think about?" she chided playfully.

Will grinned wickedly at her. "No, but if I'm not, then I can rest assured that _you_ are."

Elizabeth glared at her husband in mock annoyance. "I waited a very long time for you." She reached down and pushed a lock of his hair out of his face. "Besides, I love you and…" She tilted her head to one side and smiled down at him.

Will reached up and tangled his fingers in her hair. "I well remember how impatient you were, then how patient you had to be. And I love you more than you can ever know."

Elizabeth giggled softly and leaned down and kissed her husband's lips. "As tempting as the alternative sounds, I think getting some more sleep would be more beneficial at the moment. Something makes me think that it's going to be a very long day."

The rains continued through early afternoon. Just when the Turners were almost convinced that their planned excursion to the smithy would have to be rescheduled, the skies began to clear. Blue sky the same color as the sparkling waters of the Caribbean peeked through the puffy pale gray and white clouds. Elizabeth's apprehension about spending an entire day locked indoors with an over active nine-year-old, his father, Evan, Mercedes, _and_ Mrs. Lansford proved to be unfounded.

Will had kept William occupied with making plans for their as yet unscheduled adventure. The pair of them had been sitting huddled together for hours, poring over various maps and other documents while Elizabeth had taken the time to indulge in some leisurely reading. The three of them remained in the parlor the entire morning, only coming out to each lunch, before returning to their lair. The only sounds that could be heard coming from the room were the soft, low rumble of Will's voice and the higher pitched version of William's, punctuated by occasional laughter from both of them.

As for the rest of the household, Evan and Mercedes sat at the dining table, polishing the silver that Mercedes hadn't gotten to the day before. There was no mistake that Evan loathed the tedious chore, but had volunteered his assistance for no other reason than to spend time with Mercedes. He watched her endlessly as she vigorously rubbed each piece with the polish, completely unaware of his attention. Mrs. Lansford, who had arrived dripping wet before dawn, had opted to remain in the kitchens as was her habit. Rain or no rain, the family had to eat.

Mercedes looked up from her task and gazed out the window behind Evan. Her forehead wrinkled ever so slightly as if she was trying to solve some riddle. "Just a few more minutes," she said, sounding much like she was trying to reassure a small child that a distasteful ordeal would soon be over.

Evan's forehead creased in confusion. Considering the number of forks alone yet to be polished, he knew the "minutes" Mercedes had mentioned could not possibly refer to their joint project. "Just a few more minutes of what?"

Mercedes continued to stare out through the rain spattered glass. "It will stop, then they can go."

Evan stared at her without blinking an eye. He was quite used to Mercedes' non sequiturs. Most people would have probably ignored her seemingly random comments, possibly even attributing them to the fact that English was not her first language or that she came across as a bit flighty. But everyone in the Turner household knew that Mercedes had a seriously unpredictable, but deadly accurate gift of _knowing _things that she shouldn't. The problem was learning to ask the right questions to unravel the sometimes unrelated pronouncements she made. The trick was to ask in a way that skirted the topic at hand, but still hinted at it. And _never _try to ask her for more than one bit of information at once. That approach never succeeded. It would have been much easier if asking her directly would work, but that method was guaranteed to fail, for once her attention was focused on what she had sensed, she tended to forget it entirely. That wasn't to say that people always followed the established guidelines, thereby ending up with no more insight into the mystery behind her words than they had before she had spoken.

There was, however, one thing worse than asking the wrong question or trying to pull information out of her when there was no more to be had. Questioning her about things she thought her audience should already be aware of irritated her no end. It seemed that Mercedes had an annoying habit of saying what she was thinking without giving her listener any point of reference. Even after knowing her for a bit more than five years, Evan was still not very skilled at telling the difference between her gift and her propensity to start conversations in the middle. When they had first met, he had viewed the whole thing as yet another annoying inconvenience the then barely twelve year old Mercedes had imposed upon them. After all, he was seventeen and nearly a man. What interest could he possibly have in what the frail, but feisty ragamuffin said? Not to mention that she could hardly understand more than a dozen words of English.

He chuckled softly to himself and wondered if Mercedes even remembered how little patience he'd had for her when she was a child. If she did, he supposed he could try to blame his annoyance on having to rely on Miss Rebecka or one of her sons to translate for him. He wasn't comfortable with relying on other people as much as he should be. She knew that now, but had she been aware of it then? Fortunately, that arrangement hadn't last very long. Mercedes was a quick learner when it came to languages, even if she did tend to forget words when she was angry or flustered.

Evan was well aware why now, after all this time, it was suddenly important to him that Mercedes think well of him. He loved her. He had no memory of when or why he had fallen for her, but the fact was that he had. And although he thought she held some affection for him, he was reluctant to press the issue. If she didn't care for him enough to consider him a suitor then he couldn't imagine how he could continue living under the same roof with her. Elizabeth had often told him that, if and when he was ready to set out on his own, he would have a respectable position with the shipping company, but he wasn't ready for that yet. It didn't matter that Will was back and more than capable of taking care of his family, Evan still felt some undeniable obligation to them. He was also the only one who could decide if his self-imposed duty to the family who had taken him in outweighed his desire to pursue a life with Mercedes. Ideally both were possible, but finding that out was a chance he would have to take.

Mercedes turned her attention from watching the rain through the window to Evan. She had entirely expected him to tease her about her weather predictions, but he hadn't. Instead, he sat across from her, looking in her general direction, but not really seeing her. Normally, that might have bothered her, but today she seized the opportunity to just look at him without fear of being caught staring. He wasn't overly handsome, she thought—nothing like Captain Will to be sure—but there was a pleasing quality to his features. She loved his expressive green eyes and his easy smile

It was his smile that she liked the best, most especially when she knew it was meant just for her. Just knowing that he had noticed her made her heart beat a little faster and the butterflies to start in her stomach. None of the other boys that she flirted with when she went to the market had that effect on her_._ She wondered if the difference was because they were exactly that—_boys_. Evan, though still young, was a grown man. He was of an age where most of his friends were beginning to settle down, and some even had a child already. _Be careful what you wish for, Mercedita. _She would have loved to flatter herself and believe that he stuck around because of her, but she just didn't know. He did flirt with her on occasion, but sometimes he didn't speak at all. He obviously enjoyed her company. Why else would he help her chores? He had enough of his own to do without adding anything more. Granted, she usually _did _ask him for help, but her singular motivation for that was to have him nearby. Then there was that _one_ time, just after Captain Will had returned, when she and Evan had nearly shared their first real kiss. _Mr. Ross, kissing just my forehead just won't do. _Since then, the most affection he had displayed towards her was holding her hand. And while that was nice, it wasn't what she had in mind.

The_ what_ she had in mind was another problem. She _desperately _wanted, no, _needed_ another woman to talk to. She had no idea how to proceed in matters of the heart. How would she know that Evan was really the one she wanted and not just a passing fancy? It wasn't as if other boys hadn't caught her eye before, but this felt different. How was she supposed to let Evan know that she was interested in him or find out if he was receptive to the idea of courting her? She was well versed in the more physical part of a relationship between a man and a woman. What would happen when the right man came along was no mystery to her, but how would she know she had chosen wisely? How would she know she had found the right man to give her heart to? No one had ever explained that to her and now that she needed to know, she had no idea who to ask.

The woman who had given birth to her could hardly have been considered mother material and more than likely, couldn't care less about emotional attachments. Besides, Mercedes had never been sure about which of the women where she had lived actually _was _her mother. No matter which one was her biological mother, Mercedes knew that her birth was never thought of as anything other than an occupational hazard. Had Elizabeth not taken her in, she had no doubt that she would never have had any choice other than to follow in her dam's footsteps. Even at twelve, some of the clients had started to show an interest in her. Mercedes shuddered internally at the memory of how close she had come to never being more than a whore.

Elizabeth, in turn, had served as more of a guardian than a replacement for the maternal influence she had never had. Not that Mercedes ever held it against her, but Elizabeth had been far too caught up in taking care of William to care for another child. What's more, Mercedes, at the time, was far too independent to have tolerated much in the way of authority. In any case, Elizabeth was so engrossed in reacquainting herself with her husband that Mercedes wouldn't have dreamed of intruding with her silly need for advice. She supposed she could ask Mrs. Lansford, but there was something a bit too grandmotherly about her. Uncomfortable wouldn't even begin to describe how Mercedes would feel asking her for guidance in matters of such a personal nature.

Mercedes noticed that whatever had Evan so entranced had caused him to smile. Part of her wanted to allow him his daydream so that she could continue to simply watch him, but another part of her was dying of curiosity as to what he was thinking. It was clear that he found it amusing. As always, her natural inquisitiveness won out. "What has you so lost in thought, Mr. Ross?" Mercedes asked teasingly.

Evan snapped back to attention. He wasn't the kind of man who was prone to let his mind wander, but when he was around Mercedes it happened more often than not, and not always in a socially acceptable direction. He blinked and shook his head slightly as he realized that he had been staring at her or more specifically, staring at her mouth.

Mercedes cocked her head to one side, her charcoal black eyes glistening with amusement. "Are you ignoring me?" She giggled and unconsciously licked her lips.

"No," Evan responded slowly, trying to remember what she had said before he allowed his thoughts to wander. _Something about stopping and going? _His eyes lit up with relief at recalling her words. Working under the assumption that the stopping referred to the rain, he opted to question the "going" part of the equation. "Who's going and where?" He winced as he realized that he had asked for two pieces of information. If her statement had been a mystery to solve, he had failed to follow protocol and would learn nothing more. But if it wasn't, then he chanced irritating her and spoiling a perfectly good chance to spend the afternoon with her.

Mercedes regarded him with one eyebrow raised then rolled her eyes. "_Presta atención_." Pay attention. Captain Will and Miss Elizabeth are going out this afternoon. William is staying here. We're supposed to watch out for him," she said pointedly with mock annoyance.

Evan ran though all of the plans he had known of for the day. He was sure no one had mentioned anyone going out. Who, in their right mind, would go out in this weather? It had been storming since before dawn. Not to mention that if William was to be left in his charge for any length of time, the boy would have already started making demands as to what he wanted to do. As far as he knew, William had spent the entire morning in the company of his parents. "Where would they go on a day like today?" Evan asked, truly confused.

This time Mercedes annoyance was not in jest. She sighed heavily and tossed her glossy black hair. "To the _taller. _I don't know you say that word. To the _herrería_? Captain Will is _herrero_, is he not?"

Evan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He knew hardly more now than he had when the conversation had started. _Maybe I should have her teach me Spanish?_

Mercedes put the ladle she had been polishing back on the table and raised her hands in supplication. Evan recognized the gesture as Mercedes way of expressing her frustration when someone didn't understand her. "The place, the one where he makes the _espadas_—the swords. That is what he does now, no?"

"Blacksmith. That's the word you were looking for. Yes, Will is…was…is…a blacksmith. They're going to the smithy then?" Evan successfully concluded, much to his relief.

"Isn't that what I said?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Evan narrowed his eyes and looked quizzically at Mercedes. Surely she didn't think he had understood her the first time, but until recently, he hadn't really cared too much about what she thought. "Why would they be going there?" he asked, more to himself than not.

"Because…" Mercedes stopped, her eyes widened and she blushed profusely. She quickly diverted her eyes away from Evan and back to the neglected ladle. She began rubbing furiously at the tarnished metal and muttering to herself in Spanish.

"Mercedes?" Her odd reaction didn't so much concern Evan as confound him. While she might be easily startled, she wasn't easily embarrassed and yet _something _had caused her to color like that.

Mercedes stood up abruptly, but kept her face directed away from Evan. "I need to go help Mrs. Lansford," she blurted. Without waiting for a reply, she scurried out of the room, still clutching the now partially polished ladle.

"It's stopped."

The sound of Will's voice directed towards her, prompted Elizabeth to look up from her book and cast a cursory glance towards the window. "So, it would seem." She refrained from making any further comments about the change in the weather, in favor of letting Will decide what his next step was. Earlier in the day, when it became apparent that the trip to the blacksmith shop would be delayed or possibly cancelled, Elizabeth had noticed that Will was visibly more relaxed. She didn't blame him for that reaction, but it was something he would have to face eventually. She also knew that she couldn't do anything to help him. It was still quite fresh in her memory the apprehension she had suffered upon her own return to Port Royal, in spite of the time she had to prepare herself. Will hadn't been given that chance. For all practical purposes, he had simply been dropped back into the world of the living and expected to find his own way.

"Do you think we should chance it?" Will stared determinedly at his wife.

Elizabeth smiled at him reassuringly. "That's not my decision to make. The choice is entirely up to you."

Will turned to look out the window and sighed heavily. "Now is as good a time as any, I suppose." He turned back to Elizabeth. "You_ are_ still coming with me, right?"

Elizabeth nodded, reassuring him that where he went, she followed, as she thought back to a time when he had doubted himself far more than most people would have guessed. It wasn't something he was prone to now, but every once in a while one of the insecurities of his youth would make an unexpected reappearance.

"Where are you going?" William piped up, ever alert for a possible adventure.

Elizabeth caught the brief flash of concern in her son's eyes before he quickly suppressed it. He had not taken well to being left behind just the day before and now they were going to do it again.

"Mr. Brown's old shop," Will answered hesitantly.

"_Really?_ I thought Mama said it was yours now. Can I stay here?" William ran all of his words together like he was in a hurry to do something.

Will looked at Elizabeth questioningly only to see that she looked equally perplexed. They had both anticipated some complaint about being left behind—it was so much a part of William's personality that no one thought twice about it—but this had caught them off guard.

"Do you not feel well?" Elizabeth asked, heading for her son.

"_Mama!_" William rolled his eyes. "I told you yesterday I was fine. I just have something I want to do here," he whined.

"Don't roll your eyes at your mother and don't talk to her in that tone of voice," Will scolded before even he realized it. Both William and Elizabeth looked at him with stunned expressions on their faces. Will was sure his own expression was equally astonished.

In the slightly more than six weeks that Will had been home, this was the first time he had raised his voice to his son. It had taken him by surprise as much as it had William and Elizabeth. His first instinct was to apologize to the boy, but he immediately recognized that in some fashion, the situation paralleled his former position as captain of a ship. If he backed down now, he would lose ground on any sense of authority he had earned to this point. He hadn't enjoyed the sensation, but it had been inevitable. No one was perfect, most especially an overly adventurous nine-year-old. Besides, Will reminded himself, William had been disrespectful to his mother even if that hadn't been his intent.

William looked up at his father, his eyes still wide, but now more from being startled than anything. "Yes, sir," he stammered, then turned towards his mother. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

Elizabeth put her hand under William's chin and lifted his face up. She could tell by his eyes that his apology had been in earnest. "Thank you, but your father has a point whether he realizes it or not. You _have _been more than a little full of yourself lately. I don't want to blame your friends for the change, but if it keeps up…" Elizabeth smiled grimly and shrugged slightly.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered sheepishly.

"Shall we try this again?" Will asked.

Elizabeth could still hear the regret in his voice, but she was sure William wouldn't notice. After all, there were some nuances of Will's behavior that only _she_ did or would ever understand.

William stepped back from his mother and turned towards his father. "Papa, may I please stay here this afternoon, instead of going with you and Mama? I want to look at the maps some more."

"But those books are always here. Are you sure you don't want to go out while you can? You might be confined to quarters for a while if the rain continues," Will pointed out.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow questioningly at Will. She had no doubt that William would be tagging along with his father to the smithy before too much longer, but surely not this first time back? Even she had avoided the building since her return to Port Royal, although all of her memories of being there were happy, albeit sometimes frustrating, ones.

"Yes, sir. I know, sir, but I still think I would rather stay here." William noticed the look that his mother gave his father, and wondered if that was one of the things that Miss Estrella meant when she had told Mercedes that his mother had never been subtle where his father was concerned. Even if he _had _wanted to go, he would have certainly opted to stay now. Something told him that his mother was anxious for some time with just his father, and no matter how much he didn't like sharing their attentions, he knew that sometimes it was unavoidable.

Will glanced at Elizabeth hoping for a cue as to what to do next, but none was forthcoming. Apparently his grace period for learning how to manage his son had come to an end without warning. There was no other option than to jump into the fray. "If Mercedes or Evan don't mind keeping an eye on you, then I suppose that would be fine. I imagine you would find today's..." Will paused to search for an appropriate word, "errand to be rather boring."

William tilted his head in the same manner his mother tended to do and studied his father's face, trying to decide if he was teasing or not. "Will you take me there someday and show me how to make a sword?"

_Hope springs eternal _Will thought as he crouched down to eye level with William. "I think it might be a while before I'm making swords again. I'm a little out of practice," he tweaked William's nose. "But yes, I'll show you how it's done. In fact, I would be honored to show you what I do." He smiled at his son, then reached over to hug him tightly. _Just this has made all our trials and tribulations worthwhile._

"Thank you, Papa." William returned his father's hug with his characteristic enthusiasm.

"Do you think I could persuade you to let go of your father so we can be on our way before the rains start again?" Elizabeth ruffled William's hair as she spoke.

"Yes, ma'am," William responded respectfully, releasing his father and stepping back. "And I promise I'll behave while you're out," he added solemnly.

Elizabeth turned to Will, who had stood up in the meantime, and offered her hand. "Shall we, Mr. Turner?


	25. Once Upon A Time

The heavy rains from the morning had left the streets of Port Royal a muddy mess. Those residents who did not have to be out and about had opted to stay indoors to avoid the myriad puddles and accumulated filth of the streets. The resulting paucity of pedestrians allowed Will and Elizabeth to walk the distance from their home to Mr. Brown's former smithy without interruption. Elizabeth, who never had been and never would be one for convention, had taken the opportunity to walk hand in hand with Will, instead of the more formal manner preferred in public—not that she really cared much either way.

The menacing black clouds that still covered the bright blue of the Caribbean sky kept the normally oppressive July heat to a tolerable level. In fact, it was almost abnormally cool—relatively speaking, of course. Despite a few spits of water from the gathering thunderheads, the Turners reached their destination mostly dry and only slightly mud spattered.

"The sign's missing," Will commented, looking at the empty bracket suspended over the main door. "And the sword is gone again," he added, taking in the statue that stood in an alcove just outside the shop. The sword that Will had added to the display when he had mastered the techniques required to forge them himself, had remained in place, undisturbed, until the day Jack Sparrow had come to Port Royal. After that, it tended to disappear for days at a time only to reappear with little to show for its adventure.

"It was gone by the time I…_we_ came back, I assume it was taken down after Mr. Brown passed on," Elizabeth commented , referring to the wooden placard identifying the business as being both a smithy and as belonging to Mr. Brown, as she rummaged through a pocket in her skirt. "Here it is!" she exclaimed, holding up a large, only slightly rusty skeleton key. "I believe this is yours," she said with a smile and handed the key to Will.

Will hesitantly accepted the key from her and weighed it in his hands as he glanced towards the heavy padlock on the door. He smiled grimly at Elizabeth. "This seems to be a recurring theme with you," he said only half jokingly, carefully fitting the key into the lock.

Elizabeth grimaced at the thought, but said nothing. She did smile ever so slightly at Will's startled expression at the quiet _snick _of the lock opening smoothly. He obviously had expected a struggle with a long unused and most likely rusted set of tumblers. Perhaps she should have told him that Evan kept everything they owned in working order, no matter where or what it was.

Will drew a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door to reveal the intimately familiar room where he had spent so much of his life. The interior was dark—_very_ dark. Without the warm red glow of the embers in the forge or the rays of sunlight that normally trickled through the spaces between the boards, the space felt almost forlorn, if not forgotten.

Elizabeth reluctantly let go of Will's hand, as he stepped away from her into the gloom. She could tell by the anguished expression on his face that some of the more demeaning injustices that had been committed against him were foremost on his mind. No matter how much she wanted, this was one area where she was helpless when it came to providing Will with any solace. The battles he was about to face were his and his alone. All she could do was remain by his side, both literally and figuratively, and offer what support she could.

It took just a few seconds for Will's eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the smithy. He slowly turned in a half circle, surveying the room and its contents. Had he not known better, he could have sworn that he—most certainly not Mr. Brown—had only recently finished his day's tasks, returned his tools to where they belonged, and tidied up his work area. Every hammer, every swage, every set of tongs—even the anvils –were all clean and in their proper place. All that was missing was the unwashed form of a blindingly inebriated Mr. Brown slumped in a chair. That alone was an improvement over the last time he had been there.

Will crossed slowly to the center of the shop, where the expertly wrought swords he made had hung on display. _Who makes all these?_ He could almost see them hanging there still awaiting their potential new masters. _I do! And I practice with them three hours a day. _He remembered the unexpected, but appreciated increase in orders after his and Elizabeth's ordeal on Isla de Muerta and the aftermath of their return. _You need to find yourself a girl, mate. _From that point on, it had been impossible for Mr. Brown to continue passing off Will's work as his own. As a result, Will's seldom sober master had been forced to part with the profits he had kept mostly to himself. _You threatened Miss Swann! _Will turned back to the doorway and smiled at the former Miss Swann who stood anxiously awaiting any sign from her husband that she should join him. _Oh! So it is that you've found a girl._

Elizabeth smiled shyly back at Will. She cautiously descended the rough steps that led from the street to the dirt packed floor of the smithy and joined her husband in the center of the room. Her anxiety level decreased to near nothingness when Will put his arms around her, pulled her in close, and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Where would I be without you?"

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "Probably right here, doing what you always did and never complaining."

Will touched his forehead to hers and stared into her eyes. "Then I suppose the question should be whether or not you would be with me."

"No," she answered, stifling another laugh at the shocked expression in Will's eyes. "I would be at home, taking care of the children, terrorizing the staff or some other such nonsense."

Will kissed the tip of Elizabeth's nose before lifting his forehead from hers. "I'm reasonably sure that the blacksmith's wife wouldn't have _staff_."

"But this blacksmith's services are in high demand. He makes beautiful swords, you see."

Will's mood shifted from playful to serious in the blink of an eye. "Elizabeth, I haven't made a sword in over a decade. It will almost be like starting over as an apprentice again."

Elizabeth followed Will's lead and resumed a more serious demeanor. This was one of the things she had worried about. He was caught between the desire to do something productive and the fact that he had the luxury to do nothing if he so chose. Anyone who knew Will at all would immediately know that he was far more inclined to lean towards the former rather than the latter, but as to exactly what he wanted to do was still a mystery, even to him. "If this is what you want to do, then this is what you should do. We can't allow what happened to you—t o_ us_—to continue to direct our lives. It's our turn now."

"But…"he started to say, before Elizabeth put a finger to his lips and cut off the rest of his statement.

"Practice makes perfect," she said, all the while thinking how much easier this would be if Will was not quite such a perfectionist when it came to his craft or anything for that matter.

Will brought his hand up to his face to grasp Elizabeth's. He forced his fingers between hers, and kissed her now exposed palm. Elizabeth's eyes closed as she sighed peacefully, and allowed Will to wrap her arm around his neck. He then redirected his attention to her lips, to kiss her with intense slowness. Elizabeth responded willingly. She could hear her heart beating faster, her breath growing shorter, and the heat of desire begin to spread through her body.

She gasped in dismay when Will pulled himself away from her. She kept her eyes closed as she placed her hand over Will's heart. It was small consolation, but the simple fact that his heart was beating as uncontrollably as her own pleased her. Yet they had both come dangerously close to crossing the line between daring and dangerous. After all, they were technically in a public place and the street side door to the shop still stood wide open.

"Follow me. I want to see the rest." His voice was tinged with the child-like excitement of a new adventure. "I want to show _you _the rest." He grasped the hand that Elizabeth held over his heart. "I want to tell you how it all happened." He pulled her in the direction of the over-sized doors at the rear of the smithy—the ones she knew led to the courtyard, the stables and then to the tiny room that Will had called home for so many years.

Elizabeth followed without hesitation. It was difficult to not get caught up in Will's sudden enthusiasm. _What a strange day this has been with him. _She had to admit that she was curious as to what he had meant about "how it all happened." She knew the basics of his arrest on their intended wedding day, but surely he wouldn't sound so excited to tell her about _that._

Outside, the skies were still dismally gray and the storm clouds were beginning to regroup. It didn't take someone with as much experience with foul weather as either Will or Elizabeth to discern that the rains would begin again soon, this time harder than before. The courtyard was already a maze of mud puddles; much more water would turn it into a bog.

"They're still here. I thought surely they would have died," Will said with disbelief.

"_Who _is still here?" Elizabeth looked around the courtyard in confusion.

Will laughed. "Not who. What. The roses." He dragged Elizabeth towards a massive tangle of pale pink blossoms and wicked looking thorns that dominated what, on any other day, would be a sunny, but protected corner of the courtyard. "Mrs. Brown helped me plant them and showed me how to care for them when they first took me in." Elizabeth noticed the break in his voice and the briefest flash of sadness in his eyes. "They were in memory of my mother."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned in to him. "I think you have Evan to thank for their rescue and resurrection. He's the one who put things to rights here and at the house…both houses actually."

"Both?" Will wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly.

"Mr. Brown left you his house when he passed away. You were all he had, even if you were…not _here._ Evan took it upon himself to do the upkeep there too. I have to admit that it has had its _uses_."

"Do I not want to know what these uses may be?" Will asked hesitantly. He wrapped one arm around her and moved closer to the roses.

"Not today. Today is about you; just you and not any questionable tenants we may have had." Elizabeth reached out to cup one of the delicate blooms, taking care to avoid the thorns. "They're beautiful."

"I think you may have just answered my question." He took his arm from around Elizabeth and snapped off one of the stems from the rose bush. "Might I ask how it is Evan knows about roses of all things? Is there anything he can't do?" Will handed the single stem to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth gazed lovingly at her husband as she accepted his impromptu gift. "He doesn't read very well and he's not very skilled when it comes to maths, but anything he has to do with his hands he learns alarmingly fast. I'm sure it was the only way he survived before I met him. To a certain extent, he's as curious about things as your son, just with a longer attention span."

"I find that hard to imagine." Will smirked at Elizabeth.

"You should give him a chance. Not that you haven't. Let him help you here. I think you'll be in for a pleasant surprise."

Will's head jerked up just as the first fat drop of rain splashed into the nearest puddle. Noticing that the imminent torrential downpour would be underway in seconds, he grabbed Elizabeth's hand and dragged her towards the stables. Although the distance they had to cover wasn't much, they were not quite fast enough to completely avoid the deluge.

"Speaking of surprises," Will commented, shaking the water off his arms and then brushing at his clothes in mirror image of Elizabeth. His wife looked at him grimly and shivered slightly. The water was cold enough without adding the winds that accompanied it. "Follow me," he said, offering her his hand and leading her to a narrow wooden door barely visible at the far end of the stable, beyond the long empty stalls even.

Elizabeth followed complacently. She raised one eyebrow as she perused the door. "Why, might I ask, are you showing me the tack room?"

Will turned to face her, put one hand on her neck and kissed her softly. "It's not a tack room or at least it hasn't been for years. It's my room. This is where I lived."

A knot formed in Elizabeth's stomach. She knew that Will's living conditions were only slightly better than living in squalor and that was only because of his own refusal to accept that was all life had to offer him. Since it would have been beyond inappropriate, during their courtship, even by her own standards, for her to visit his room with or without an escort, she had been left to picture what she wanted. The reality of how Will had lived came as an unexpected shock to her system. She immediately recognized the fact that, even after all the time they had known each other, she still did not fully understand the bleak circumstances of his youth. She also knew that there was nothing to be gained by letting it get to her now. Will had always had a much clearer picture of their differences, and as long as it no longer concerned him, then why should she let it concern her?

Elizabeth composed herself, despite her increased shivering, and shyly peered at Will through her eyelashes. "Mr. Turner, I really don't think this is at all appropriate. What will people say?"

"I really don't care what they say," he answered, pushing the door open and pulling her into the room.

It would have been difficult to tell which Turner was more shocked by the interior of the room. Will had braced himself to see everything just as it had been left when he was arrested, with the only addition being more than ten year's worth of dust and dirt accumulation. Instead, everything was in pristine condition or at least as much as it ever had been. The wash stand, that had been overturned and broken when the Marines had come, had been repaired and refurbished. The narrow cot where he used to sleep was neatly made up with an extra blanket fastidiously folded near the foot. A small table was pushed into one corner. All that was missing was the large wooden chest that had contained all his worldly belongings, but that had been removed to the Governor's mansion in preparation of him imminently taking up residence there.

Elizabeth had known the space was small, but not quite nearly so _compact_ as it actually was. Even the prison cells she had been held in were larger than this. It didn't matter that Will had described his home to her in great detail. Her image of it and the reality of it were two entirely different things. She had known that the floor was simply packed dirt. How many times had Will spoken of covering it with straw during the rainy season, to keep the mud at bay? He had mentioned the numerous chinks in the walls and leaks in the roof on more than one occasion. She knew that Evan had spent time repairing the roof, but even now there was already water puddled on the floor. Will had never had enough money to afford anything but the most crucial repairs. _What must it have been like in here during a real stor, if it's this bad on just a very rainy day?_ But what struck her most was the one incongruous thing about the room. On the wall opposite the cot was a carefully framed window—not merely the shuttered open spaces that the rest of the smithy had—but a real glass window. One that had to have cost Will a significant portion of his wages or, knowing Will, hours of extra labor bartered in exchange for it.

Will knew immediately what Elizabeth was thinking from the horrified expression on her face. Perhaps he had been a bit too generous when he had described this place to her all those years ago. No matter how cramped the room was, it had still been far better than he'd had reason to hope for given his circumstances. He had been grateful to still be alive. Complaining about the space that had been given him to live in would have been impolite or worse, ungrateful. His mother had taught him better than that.

"Would I be correct in assuming that this has something to do with questionable tenants?" Will asked, deciding that the room looked as if it were ready for last minute guests.

"What?" Elizabeth asked sharply. "Oh, that." She fought off another round of shivering. "I think this is more a result of Mercedes' obsessive dedication to keeping things clean."

"Exactly what possessed her to clean an empty stable? Even I would do most anything to avoid that particular chore." _Heaven knows that Mr. Brown wouldn't have done it. _

"I'm sure I have no idea, but at the moment she has my eternal gratitude." She pulled away from Will, snatched the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her.

"That would work better if you took your wet things off." Will pulled the edges of the blanket closer around her.

Elizabeth promptly pulled the edges back away from her. "Well?" she said as seductively, but not convincingly, as she could through chattering teeth.

"Miss Swann! What _will _people say?" He kicked the door closed and began to deftly unbutton the vest she wore over her blouse. He turned to drop the sodden garment on the wash stand while Elizabeth began unbuttoning her blouse. "Here, allow me," he said quietly as he reached to where her trembling fingers were fumbling with the buttons. Elizabeth sighed happily, closed her eyes, bowed her head and allowed herself to enjoy being undressed by her husband. Her blouse and skirt soon joined her other clothes, soon to be followed by her shoes and stockings, leaving her wearing nothing but her shift. Will retrieved the momentarily discarded blanket and wrapped it around Elizabeth's shoulders then wrapped his arms around her waist.

Elizabeth leaned into his chest, expecting to soak up his warmth, but was met with his still dripping shirt. "I think it's your turn now," she pointed out. Elizabeth dropped the blanket one more time and tugged Will's shirt over his head. He took it from her and added it to the collection. Again, he picked up the blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Elizabeth pulled the blanket partway around her, but wrapped her arms around Will's neck. "You're always so warm," she purred as she began kissing the base of his throat, then working her way to his collarbone, up the side of his neck.

"I thought the point was to warm you up?" he groaned as he twisted around to catch her lips. He eased one hand up her body, teasing her chilled skin though the thin layer of fabric. He skimmed his fingers over her slender neck to the back of her head and pulled her closer still.

"It is." Elizabeth shivered again, not from cold, but from pure, unadulterated desire for Will. She could feel the cadence of his heartbeat increasing to match her own, his breathing beginning to become labored. She was only marginally aware of the hand that had remained at her waist oozing its way to her bottom until he brusquely wrenched her hips towards his, removing any doubt she could possibly have had of his intent not paralleling hers. Elizabeth tugged Will even closer still while moving ever so slowly backwards towards the narrow cot she knew was behind her.

"I don't think it's up to the challenge," he lamented, quickly catching on to Elizabeth's goal.

"I'm willing to risk it." She grunted slightly as her back made contact with not the edge of the bed, but rough hewn wood of the exterior wall.

"Are you?" Will covered her lips with his, this time kissing her more passionately than before. He pressed himself hard against her while fumbling with the ties on her bodice.

Elizabeth's response was affirmative, but entirely nonverbal. She released her arms from around Will's neck, lowered her hands to waist of his breeches and began to unfasten them with alarming speed and accuracy that only comes from intense practice.

"You're amazingly good at that," he said huskily, running his hand down the back of her thigh and then pulling her leg, along with the hem of her shift, up and over his hip.

Elizabeth exhaled heavily, locked her leg around his waist and her arms around his neck for support. "I told you, practice makes perfect," she stammered before giving herself over to the sensations coursing through her body.

The downpour had thus far shown no sign of abating, leaving Will and Elizabeth, for all practical purposes, stranded in the stable— or more specifically, in the former tack room that had once been his home. They huddled close together on the thin, straw-filled mattress of Will's former bed. Elizabeth lay on her side with her back pressed firmly against the wall, facing her husband, who also lay on his side. The narrow space didn't allow for many other options, but despite Will's early misgivings, it had been up to the challenge, so to speak. The remainder of the afternoon had been spent dozing in each other's arms, enjoying the unexpected chance to enjoy each other without worrying about a household or a business to run.

Will was awake, Elizabeth was not. He had nearly drifted off to sleep several times, but the instant his eyes closed, the images of the last day he had been in this room replayed in his mind. It was those memories that were behind his initial reluctance to return to the smithy. And so he laid there, with his wife sheltered in his arms, her warm breath tickling his chest, and her hair tickling his nose, trying to build up the courage to face his recollections of that day.

_He had been up before the sun that morning—the last one he would awaken alone—and had impatiently begun his preparations for his wedding. He was both anxious and excited, not only with the thought of his and Elizabeth's wedding night, but also how his life was about to change forever. If only he had known then what that change would be. But had there been anything that could have been done to alter that course? He had worried, as he supposed any prospective bridegroom did, if he would be a good husband to Elizabeth and whether he would he be able to be an adequate provider for her and any children they should have. _

_He had finished dressing and was sitting on the edge of this very cot, waiting for the coach that would take him to the Governor's Mansion where he and Elizabeth would formalize the inviolable bond they had shared since childhood. It was then that he heard the commotion and muffled shouts from the street, followed by what could only be the sound of the door to the shop being forcefully opened. He almost instantaneously knew in his heart that he would not be getting married that day. _

_For one brief moment, he had considered leaving his room to meet the Marines that he was positive had been sent to arrest him. Having escaped the hangman's noose not once, but twice, and then only by the good graces of Governor Swann, something told him that this time his luck had run out. As to the reason, he had not even a hint, but he was reasonably confident that it had little to do with the acts of piracy for which he had been granted clemency. His future father-in-law doted on his only daughter and would have done anything to avoid causing her even momentary distress. Some unknown sense told him that the reason behind the events that were lining up had nothing to do with him and everything to do with something far more insidious and self-serving. But for whom?_

_Lost in his thoughts, Will hesitated just a moment too long in making his decision. The Marines burst through the door, swords drawn, rifles primed, and bayonets fixed. He had belatedly noticed the shackles and knew that the situation was far worse than he could have guessed. He stayed his instinct to resist, quickly realizing that there was no way for him to come out of the conflict alive. He was grossly outnumbered, in a cramped space, with no weapon. He remembered thinking if it was his turn to die that day, he wanted to see his much beloved Elizabeth one last time. And so he had gone without a struggle, after watching the Marines ransack his quarters in search of some unknown item. It wasn't until much later that he discovered they had already been searching for the compass that Will had never so much as held. _

_In the interim, the coach had arrived. Will had kept his head held high and was thus able to make eye contact with the clearly stunned and frightened coachman. He had nodded faintly to Will, agreeing to his unspoken request that he return to the Mansion in all haste and notify those in charge of the situation. Then Will, wearing chains and surrounded by an inordinate number of soldiers, had begun the long walk, in the drizzling rain, to meet his unknown fate. _

_As was expected, the presence of a unit of unfamiliar military personnel immediately drew the attention of the citizens of Port Royal. The sight of one of their own being marched as a prisoner through the streets attracted a crowd almost instantaneously. Will struggled to control the miasma of thoughts and emotions running through his mind and to maintain a stoic expression, as it would serve no purpose to do otherwise. At the edge of his field of vision, he could see the people—the ones he both lived among and worked with—lining the streets in silent disbelief. He was one of them, the one who had worked hard to overcome his disadvantages and had been rewarded for his efforts. But now?_

Elizabeth shifted her position, snuggling closer to Will and drawing the blanket tightly around her. Will adjusted his position accordingly to allow her more room and then lightly stroked her hair while deeply inhaling the calming scent of the lemon and lavender soap she had used to wash it. He slowly exhaled as he offered a silent prayer thanking God for the strength He had given to both of them to survive their ordeals and finally form the family that they were meant to have.

Will closed his eyes, clearing his mind of nothing but the steady beat of the rain outside and the hushed sound of Elizabeth breathing, and slowly drifted off to sleep. It had taken more than ten years, but the horror of the day was finally put to rest. In its own unexpected way, all it had taken was spending a lazy, rainy afternoon, enjoying his wife's charms, in the very room where he had thought his life, in one form or another, would end.

Elizabeth rested quietly, watching the steady drizzle fall outside the lone window and listening to the steady drip, drip, drip from the leaks in the roof. The fresh, clean smell that Elizabeth normally associated with a cleansing rain shower was quickly being replaced by the smell of cold, wet, and sticky mud. If the conditions of the room were this bad after just one day of inclement weather, then what must it have been like when conditions were worse?

"Will?" she whispered, not sure if he was asleep and not wanting to awaken him if he was.

"Mmm?"

The sound was so vague that Elizabeth couldn't be sure if he had acknowledged her, or if it was nothing more than one of those noises that he sometimes made when he slept. She contemplated trying again, but decided against it. What she wanted to ask could wait. For now, she was content to just look at him. After a few minutes, Elizabeth felt the tips of his fingers softly trace the curve of her waist. His touch was so light that it would have been easy not to notice except for the way her body automatically responded to his caresses.

"You _are_ awake."

"Mmm."

As before, it was difficult to tell if he had answered or was mumbling in his sleep, but since he had moved…

"Did you know you can see the Mansion from here? Through the window, I mean," Elizabeth continued to speak softly, on the off chance that he really was asleep. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time he had reached for her in the night without ever once realizing it.

Will made no sound, nor did he open his eyes, but the faintest of smiles slowly crept across his face.

"I'll take that as a yes," Elizabeth said happily.

Will pulled her closer still. He put one hand on the back of her head and tucked it neatly into the space between his neck and shoulder. He rubbed his chin across the top of her scalp just because he liked the silken feel of her hair against his throat.

"Once upon a time—" he began.

"Oh, so it's story time now?" Elizabeth giggled as she cut off Will's words.

"Don't interrupt me," he warned, then started his tale one more time. "Once upon a time, there was a young boy who lived in this room. He had lost the only family he knew of and was far from the only home he had ever known. "

"How did he get here?" Elizabeth teased him with both her voice and her fingers gliding up his chest.

"You're interrupting again." Will paused for a moment. "The boy had only one friend in the world, only one person who cared about him. It was the young girl who lived in the really big house at the top of the hill—the same one you can see from the window." He eased his hand back down her back to the swell of her hip. "They were only twelve or so when they first met, but they quickly became the best of friends. In fact, many people described them as being inseparable. Since the boy had nowhere to go, he was apprenticed to the blacksmith who worked here. It wasn't so bad at first; the man's wife was very kind to the boy and made sure that he was fed and clothed and all those other things a mother normally does for her children."

"But it didn't stay that way, did it?" Elizabeth tenderly kissed Will's chest over his heart, where the jagged scar he had worn for so long had been until recently.

"No, it didn't, but that's a different story. Now, hush."

"The boy would rise before dawn every morning and rush to finish his chores because in the afternoons he was allowed to visit with his friend, even if it was just for lessons, but sometimes her governess would take them to the shore…"

"To play pirates."

"Interrupting? Yes, they played pirates. As the years passed and they both grew from children into young adults, the boy's…excuse me, the young man's feelings for the girl grew too. He realized that he didn't just love her as one does a friend, but loved her enough that he would have done anything to spend the rest of his life with her."

"And they lived happily ever after. I think I know this story." Elizabeth redirected her attentions to the base of Will's throat.

"We're not to that part yet." His fingers tightened on her flesh in response to her ministrations. "No more talking."

"One year, when they were both fifteen, the girl invited her friend to be her guest at the Winter Ball that her father was hosting. He was very nervous. He knew he didn't have the proper clothes to wear or the money to buy them. "

"Is _that_ why you didn't come? I waited for you all night."

Will knew from the tone of her voice that what she said was true. He had hurt her and yet they had never talked about his absence that night,. He hated to admit it, but it was strangely reassuring to know that she truly wanted him to be there. He knew he should have told her why he hadn't been so long ago, but as long as she had never brought up the subject he had chosen to let it lie. "No, that's not why. A few days before the young man's sixteenth birthday, he was preparing to start his walk up the hill to his customary lessons and to spend time with the girl, but that never happened. A man, one that he had known from the beginning, came to see him."

"It was James, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter." Will drew a deep breath and slowly released it. "The girl's father had sent him. He took the boy—because in his eyes he still was one— he took him aside and explained to him in great detail how inappropriate it was for a young woman of your…_her _pedigree to debase herself by associating with a common laborer. From that day on, the young man was forbidden to seek her out, to use her Christian name, to even speak with her except on authorized occasions and then only when chaperoned." Will spoke in a moderately accurate imitation of the then, Lieutenant Norrington's clipped enunciation.

"I never knew." She raised her head to stare into the unfathomable depths of Will's chocolate colored eyes. She could see there that what he said was the truth, but on some level she had always known that. Elizabeth softly kissed his lips. "I could have done something."

"No, you couldn't have." Will kissed her one more time and then encouraged her to settle back into her previous position. "It was the next day that the boy cut that hole in the wall that would eventually become a window. Every morning when he got up and every night before he went to bed, he would stare out the window at the mansion and wonder if she ever thought of him. He knew that what the Lieutenant had said was true. He wasn't that oblivious to the way things worked. What he didn't know was that his feelings for her would continue to grow, even though they were apart, or how painful it would be to try and accept the fact that she would never be his. There were nights when he could barely sleep at all because he couldn't stop thinking about her. When he did sleep, she was always in his dreams."

"And exactly what did these dreams involve?" Elizabeth nipped at Will's shoulder.

"Just the usual: picking wildflowers, strolling through the gardens, walking barefoot on the beach. Those kinds of things," Will said in all seriousness.

Elizabeth began to laugh. "Will Turner, you are _such _a liar!"

The ropes holding the mattress groaned in protest when Will flipped over on his back, dragging Elizabeth on top of him. He put one hand on either side of her head and lifted his face to hers. "It's all true, I swear." Elizabeth's unbound hair shrouded Will's face as their lips met. "Although I might have left out some details about those dreams," he admitted, his voice gaining the husky quality it did when his thoughts turned to things of a more intimate nature.

"Somehow I thought you had." Elizabeth lifted her head and smiled down at him. "You weren't disappointed with the reality were you?"

Will ran his hands down to the small of her back and held them there. "You are everything I dreamed of and more. Every night, I would look out that window and say, 'I love you, Elizabeth.' I just never believed that I would ever be able to say it to your face, much less hear you say it in return."

Elizabeth brushed his hair out of his face then set about making herself comfortable, amidst more ominous protestations from the ropes. It never ceased to amaze her how well their bodies fit together. She was sure that no one could ever make her stop believing that God had made them for each other. How else could they have overcome so much to be together?

"Once upon a time," she began once she had found a comfortable position with her upper body lying partway across Will's chest, her hip resting on the increasingly uncomfortable mattress and their legs twined together.

"Oh, so it's my turn for a story now?" Will began playing with her hair.

"Yes, and you know the rules about interrupting, so be quiet," she ordered, knowing he would pay as little attention to her request as she had to his. "There was a little girl whose mother had died. Her father was so grief stricken that he felt he could no longer live in the same house; so the two of them packed up everything they owned and sailed to Port Royal."

"Don't forget that they picked up an extra passenger along the way," Will added.

"Don't jump ahead!"

"If you insist."

"Where was I? Oh! The girl didn't mind moving so far from her home because she craved adventure, and surely there was more to be had in the Caribbean than in stuffy old London."

"I rather missed London at first," Will commented.

"Hush," Elizabeth ordered, thumping him lightly on the chest to reinforce her mandate. "The little girl wanted— almost more than anything—to meet a real pirate on their journey."

"But she didn't."

"Yes, she did or rather, she _thought _she did. Not too terribly far into the voyage they rescued a pirate boy or at least, _she_ believed he was a pirate. He had a real pirate medallion and she _did _see a pirate ship through the fog. But as you said earlier, _that _is another story."

"Do go on." Will stopped playing with her hair and redirected his attention to running his fingers up and down her back.

"The girl and the boy developed an…_attachment_, shall we say, while they were aboard the ship. It continued to grow once they arrived in Port Royal. The girl did have other female friends, but she preferred to spend time with her pirate boy."

"And why is that?"

"Do I need to remind you about interrupting?" Elizabeth giggled. "She liked being with him because he was kind and clever, he made her laugh, and because he allowed her to be who she wanted. Everyone else expected her to be a proper young lady and learn to embroider and dance and all sorts of useless things, but not him. When she was with him she could say what she thought or do what she wanted. He always allowed her something that no one else did—freedom. Because of that, she decided that one day, she would marry him."

"It didn't bother him that she was sometimes less than lady-like?"

"He apparently didn't mind too much because he continued to visit no matter how much she bossed him around," she said matter-of-factly.

"I think she still does sometimes," Will said, completely deadpan. He then picked his head up enough to kiss the top of Elizabeth's hair, so she would know he was merely teasing.

"I've never heard him complain," she shot back as she slid one hand to his waist to tickle him.

Will, without thinking, retreated from Elizabeth's attack, resulting in them nearly sliding off the edge of the bed. Elizabeth's face turned red with stifled laughter.

"I _will_ make you pay for that!" Will muttered, working with Elizabeth to rearrange themselves in the inconsiderable space they occupied. The ever increasing complaints from the bed frame inspired them to use extreme caution.

"Do you promise?" Elizabeth asked flirtatiously.

Will said nothing, but raised one eyebrow and blessed his wife with a salacious smirk.

"You almost made me lose my place in my story." She paused to reorganize her thoughts. "Yes. The pair continued to grow closer as the years passed. Then one day, not too long before her sixteenth birthday, the girl's father—or the young lady's father I should say now—gave her permission to choose her own escort to the Winter Ball. She never thought twice about who she wanted him to be.

"What did her father think of her choice?" Will knew exactly what Weatherby Swann had thought of him at the time. It hadn't improved much over the intervening years but he had finally relented and given them permission to marry. Will would always be grateful to him for that.

"He didn't know at first. I think he was under the impression that she would choose one of the younger naval officers. She never guessed that her father would disapprove so much that he would forbid her young man from attending. She spent days dreaming about him. She imagined what it would feel like to have him hold her while they danced." Elizabeth paused to consider if she wanted to tell him the rest of what she had done or not. "She also plotted on how to coax him into kissing her, she wanted so much to know what it would feel like."

"I'm assuming that she believed that he would agree to this?" Will changed tacks and started drawing circles on her back with his fingers.

"Of course! She also planned to tell him that she loved him." Elizabeth's voice cracked.

Will knew instinctively that if he could see her eyes, they would be flooded with tears left over from all those years of regret. Will took several deep breaths and slowly exhaled. "But he never showed, did he?"

"No," she choked out, so softly that even Will could barely hear her. "She waited for him." Elizabeth sniffled as she continued to hold in her tears. "She waited for him all night. He never came. He never sent word. He never…"

Will kissed Elizabeth's temple. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you why, but… Do you understand now?"

Elizabeth nodded, her hair tickling Will's chin and throat. She sighed in resignation and continued her story. "The girl was hurt and confused. She cried for days, but there was no one to console her. Her father was too busy with matters of state to notice her distress. Her governess, who had never liked the boy anyway, kept reminding the girl about how many times she had been warned that no good would ever come from knowing him." Elizabeth subconsciously eased her hand over Will's heart. She had not realized it, but it was a habit she had formed when she needed reassurance. "Every night the girl would stand out on her balcony and watch the lights from the town below. She wasn't sure exactly where the smithy was located—it wasn't a place she was allowed to visit—but she still looked every night and thought about the young man who had broken her heart. "

"I didn't know," Will said quietly.

"Shh, let me finish." She lighted kissed his chest. "When she turned sixteen, her father decided she was mature enough to no longer need a governess and would instead have her own maid."

"Estrella?"

"Yes, Estrella. I was still sulking when she first came into my service. I'm afraid I was overly cruel and inconsiderate to her, but soon I realized that she was the perfect person to keep me informed about your whereabouts and such."

"You _spied _on me?" Will laughed disbelievingly.

"I prefer to remember it as strategic planning so I could coincidentally be where you were. It would make me so angry that you wouldn't call me by name or tease me like you once had." Her voice held an odd quality, somewhere between defensive and full of pride for her plan.

"Elizabeth, I…"

"I know now that you couldn't," she said, interrupting Will's unnecessary apology. "But it's all behind us now, and every time I see that window, I'll be reminded that you never stopped thinking of me."

"I still wish I could make it up to you."

Elizabeth saw her opening and took it. "Now that you mention it…"

"Mention what? Have I just committed myself to something I would rather not do?"

"You're whining much like your son does." Elizabeth couldn't resist the chance to needle him, knowing it would increase her chances to agree to what she was about to ask, just to prove she was wrong.

"Just tell me," he surrendered.

"I'm not entirely sure I should," Elizabeth said coquettishly.

"And exactly why not?" Will brushed his fingers along Elizabeth's spine, causing her to shudder involuntarily.

"What if you disappoint me again?" she pretended to pout.

"I would never knowingly do that," he answered, his indignation not entirely in jest.

Elizabeth sensed the vague undertone of hurt in his voice. "I know," she said apologetically, snuggling closer to him. "Some part of me has _always_ known that. I think I even knew that when you didn't show up at the Ball that night."

"Don't forget that, please? Now what is it that you would like me to do as far as making reparations even if it _wasn't_ within my control to do any differently?"

"The Governor's Ball?" she asked sheepishly.

"Is _that _all? I knew from our very first moment together that balls and other similarly stuffy events were part of the price I had to pay to be with you. To paraphrase Tia Dalma 'for what you want most...' When is this accursed event?" Will knew that no matter how distasteful he found the idea, that there was no legitimate way around it. He also knew, without Elizabeth having to tell him, that it was time that he let it be known that he was back, and he was staying.

"Six weeks?" She answered timidly, but teasingly.

Will lay completely still for a few moments. "I'm almost embarrassed to ask this, but will you teach me how to dance…again? I'm afraid my memory for such things is somewhat short term."

Elizabeth raised herself up on one elbow and smiled at Will. "Of course, I will." She touched noses with him then looked up at what she now thought of as _her _window. "I think the rain has stopped, or at least slacked up enough for us to make a run for it. It's getting late."

"I'm sure you're right. They're probably wondering where we've been and what we've been doing all day." Will sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up.

"We'll just tell them the truth," Elizabeth commented as she too sat up amidst a sigh of relief from the ropes.

"Excuse me?" Will turned to look at her with a horrified expression on his face.

"Not the…_details_…just that we got caught by the rain. That _is _the truth." She stood up and began to retrieve her still damp articles of clothing.

Will fastened his breeches and began looking for his shirt. He stopped, just as he was about to pull it over his head, and looked towards the tangled sheets covering the bed. "Do you think we should…" he asked, nodding towards the mess.

"Umm, no. Mercedes will take care of it the next time they come to straighten things up or clean or whatever it is she and Evan do here." Elizabeth ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make it more presentable.

"Won't she wonder what happened in here?" Will ventured.

"Knowing Mercedes she knew what we were going to do today before we did. I've learned not to worry about it." Elizabeth sat back on the bed to pull on her stockings and put on her shoes, trying her best not to soil them with mud.

"That might take me a while." Will tied his hair back in its customary queue. "Speaking of Mercedes, what exactly is going on with her and Evan?"

"Mercedes and _Evan_?" Elizabeth looked at Will as if he had lost his mind. "They practically grew up together. They're just friends, I'm sure."

_As were we._ Will shrugged his shoulders and offered his hand to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Turner, shall we make our way home?"


	26. Meetings Too Long Delayed

_Meetings Too Long Delayed_

Elizabeth sat at her desk and bit her lower lip, pondering the pair of notes before her. The two invitations lying on the salver couldn't have been more different even if someone had tried to make them so. The one, artfully engraved on creamy white vellum, and elegantly addressed to _Captain William Turner and the Honorable Mrs. Elizabeth Swann-Turner –_obvious signs of Mrs. Busby'sinfluence_—_was the both anticipated and dreaded invitation to the Governor's Ball, just a little more than two weeks hence. That invitation had been hand delivered earlier that morning by a liveried footman, much to the delight of Mercedes, who was still intrigued by such things. It still amused Elizabeth to think that something that had been such a commonplace occurrence for her at that age was a source of endless amazement to Mercedes. Waving the invitation like a fan in front of her face, it had briefly crossed Elizabeth's mind to insist that Evan and Mercedes be included in the festivities, but she quickly discarded the notion. While they both had every right to be there—being Elizabeth's and, by extension, Will's wards—she was still just selfish enough about her time with Will to want this event to herself. Not to mention that teaching Will to dance again was enough of a challenge for her without adding Evan as yet another reluctant student. Besides, she thought, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, the lessons with Will frequently changed course and ended up being something of a less graceful nature.

All that aside, Elizabeth did wonder who Mercedes would have chosen as her escort. Would she choose Evan? Were she and Evan, as Will had implied, more of a couple now than simple companions? Since Evan was of an age that the Turners were no longer his legal guardian, he would most likely never have been included in the guest list no matter what the circumstances. In order for him to attend he would have to be invited by another guest. Elizabeth knew that minor detail would have been of no concern to him. Evan had little to no use for the members of the local gentry, even less than Will did, if that was possible. He had chosen long before that despite the advantages in life that being Elizabeth's ward could offer, he much preferred to earn his way on his own. Like Will, Evan was a craftsman at heart, even if life had dropped a few unanticipated advantages his way. The major difference was that while Will was a skilled blacksmith—among other things—Evan had never been afforded the opportunity to complete an apprenticeship due to the somewhat transient nature of his life over the past decade.

On more than one occasion Elizabeth had been given cause to remind herself that no matter what disadvantages Evan may have suffered in her company, his life was still infinitely better than it would have been had they never met. She had no doubt that the resourceful, but crafty, young boy she had taken into her care would most likely never have made it to adulthood. And if he had, he would most likely be just another illiterate, hygienically challenged, scofflaw just like the other residents of Shipwreck City. Now, however, it seemed as if Evan's life was about to take another turn. At Elizabeth's request, Will had taken on Evan as something of an over-aged apprentice at the smithy. To the average resident of Port Royal that might have been considered more than a little unusual, but it paled in comparison to some of the things that Will and Elizabeth had already done in the twenty years they had known each other.

Elizabeth carelessly dropped the invitation to the Ball onto the tray and redirected her attention to the second, much plainer, request lying there_. _Unlike the Governor's invitation, this one was painstakingly handwritten—by someone who did not make it a habit to write— on a neatly torn scrap of paper. Elizabeth had no doubt that the note's author had gone to considerable trouble to acquire both the ink_ and_ the paper—considering the expense of both items—even though neither was of high quality. Just knowing the sender's rather dire financial circumstances lent an air of increased importance to the humble missive. While the invitation to the Ball had been exceedingly formal in its form of address, this one simply read _Mrs. E. Turner. _Elizabeth would have known immediately who had sent it even had it not been timidly delivered by the author's eldest son.

Elizabeth carefully unfolded the note and again read its contents.

_Mrs. Turner, _

_Please join me for tea on the afternoon of Thursday, August 12__th__ at the Flash of Green. I beg your forgiveness for being so presumptuous as to issue such an invitation, but I find there is a topic I must discuss with you. If it were not of such great importance and urgency, I would never be so bold._

_Your devoted servant, _

_Estrella _

Elizabeth remembered another time when Estrella had apologized for being too bold with her words. Neither woman had ever again mentioned that particular exchange, but there had been times when Elizabeth had thought she owed Estrella an apology for her reaction. _That Will Turner, he's a fine man too. _ Estrella had done nothing more than speak the truth, one that Elizabeth was well aware of, but had not been willing to admit. _How did I ever believe that no one else knew of my feelings towards him? Had it always been that obvious?_

Will had repeatedly encouraged Elizabeth to invite Estrella to the house for a purpose similar to the one Estrella has proposed in her letter, but Elizabeth had thus far managed to avoid doing so. She was well aware, as was Will, of the source of her reluctance. Meeting with her former maid would undoubtedly raise some questions that would be difficult to answer, not to mention the possibility of bringing up some less than pleasant memories. If that wasn't enough, seeing Estrella and the ever increasing bulge that was her unborn child, made Elizabeth both uncharacteristically jealous and increasingly impatient in her longing for another child of her own. While Will had never said as much, Elizabeth was sure he knew her purely selfish reason for avoiding the inevitable reunion with Estrella. _Sometimes he makes me feel guiltier with what he doesn't say than with what he does. _

At the thought of things that made her feel guilty, Elizabeth's eyes drifted to the awkward grouping of furniture across from her, where her desk had formerly been. A pair of ornately carved and upholstered chairs sat entirely too close together to be aesthetically pleasing. The effect was worsened by the inclusion of a large porcelain urn practically stuffed between them. Normally Elizabeth would never have allowed such a peculiar and impractical arrangement in her office or the rest of the house for that matter, but this particular grouping served a very specific purpose. Everyone in the household knew that the chairs had been intentionally placed is such as fashion as to discourage anyone from moving the urn. The urn itself was strategically situated to cover a most unfortunate ink stain on the carpet.

Mercedes had been virtually obsessed with trying to remove the spot. Countless bars of soap and hours of scrubbing had done little more than fade the normally black ink to an unappetizing brown vaguely reminiscent of a blood stain. Mercedes had also apparently believed Elizabeth's tale of being abnormally careless in knocking over the bottle and had now forgotten about it. But Will hadn't. At every possible opportunity he teased his wife about the permanent shrine to her not so subtly planned afternoon of debauchery as he had called it. She had taken to offering a retort about his own licentious endeavors during their afternoon at the smithy, but he had smugly pointed out that there was no tangible reminder of the occasion.

But Elizabeth wasn't quite so sure about that. The fingers of her free hand rested lightly on her abdomen. She was well aware that it was far too early to tell, or even suspect for that matter, but she had the strangest feeling that she might finally be pregnant. Over the past two or three days she'd had to almost constantly remind herself that the was no real reason for her to think she had conceived, but on the other hand, she'd had the same inexplicable intuition as the time before. Unlike the last time, however, she would be able to tell Will as soon as she was reasonably sure. It seemed such a simple thing for a wife to be able to tell her husband that they were going to have a baby, but it was one that she had been so cruelly denied. The struggle for her now would be to actually wait even just a few more days before she told Will. Had there been anyone to ask, she would have readily admitted that she was sorely tempted to share her suspicions with her husband. Had Will and William not already left on their long delayed _expedition,_ as William called it, she might very well have done so. Then again, with none of the imprecisely remembered symptoms present as of yet, it was perhaps best to not tempt fate. What would there to be gained from both of them being disappointed again?

Elizabeth rose from her chair, leaving both invitations open and laying haphazardly on the engraved silver tray, and readied herself for the short walk to the tavern for an afternoon of tea, idle chit chat, and tales of another time.

Estrella stood in the tiny enclosed area at the rear of her "left" room as her family referred to it, and rearranged the delicate china tea cups on the serving tray yet again as she nervously awaited Elizabeth's arrival. She rubbed her lower back, trying to ease some of the discomfort she had been feeling all day, then straightened up to admire her work. She was pleased that Laura Cavanaugh had been kind enough to allow Estrella to borrow her best tea set for the occasion. Much to Estrella's surprise, her employer had not succumbed to her overdeveloped sense of curiosity and interrogated Estrella about her need to meet with Elizabeth Turner. Estrella was, however, realistic enough to know that her luck in that venue was doomed to fail. She knew that the inevitable questions would be subtle at first—Laura was skilled enough in her techniques to not reveal her cards too early—but would quickly become more detailed in nature as Laura zeroed in on her target. But for two things, Estrella would have willingly told Laura everything that she was about to tell Elizabeth. First, Estrella felt that Elizabeth, as her former mistress, had a right to be the first to hear the truth about the circumstances that led to the Estrella and her children returning to Port Royal alone, and second, Estrella had quickly learned that a large portion of Laura's enjoyment in collecting gossip was derived from the hunt more than the kill.

But Laura would have to wait to slake her inquisitiveness—perhaps forever. Everything would be clearer after Estrella confessed her story to Elizabeth. All she could do now was to hope and pray that Elizabeth would understand why she had lied about the circumstances of her life during the past ten years or more. Estrella was not proud of the fact that she had lied to Elizabeth, but sometimes desperate times required desperate measures. Was it too much to wish that Elizabeth, who had always gotten everything she ever wanted, would understand that sometimes it was much easier to allow people to believe what they wanted instead of sharing the complete truth? Besides, who would be so cruel as to turn a woman with three young children out into the streets— especially one who was well past seven months gone with child? Estrella was banking on the fact that Elizabeth Turner had never been as blind to the plight of those less fortunate than herself as other residents of Port Royal tended to be.

Estrella awkwardly settled herself onto the well worn settee in the tiny area that served as her sitting room. She gave the room one last visual scan, checking to make sure that everything was neat and tidy even though there was no reason that it shouldn't be. The children seldom came into this part of their dwelling, preferring to spend their time what they called the "right" room or the "last room." At first the unusual monikers had made no sense to her. But Jacob had matter-of-factly pointed out that their dwelling was more of a straight line than the traditional square or rectangular shape of a house resulting in what amounted to a sitting room at either end. The boys, and on occasion their younger sister, had commandeered the left over room as their own personal lair. Other than the inconvenience of having to walk through everyone's sleeping quarters to get from one end to the other, she didn't see what difference it made what they called the rooms. When the Turners had given their permission to convert the former officers quarters into a place for her to live with her children, she had never even considered what _shape_ it would be. When the boys had first explained their observation, her first instinct had been to chastise them for being ungrateful, but thankfully she had held her tongue. They were happy just to have a home, being proud that theirs was a bit unique was just a bonus. Estrella's thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected and unusually sharp pain that shot from her back to her belly. She was well accustomed to the feel of tiny hands and feet assailing her insides as her baby grew more active the closer she got to her time, but this was different. This did _not _feel right and that worried her, almost more than the outcome of today's appointment with the one person who could either save her or relegate her to a life of inescapable poverty. She winced as a second and equally intense pain followed the first.

"Mrs. Turner!" Laura Cavanaugh greeted Elizabeth brightly as she stepped through the front door of the tavern. "I thought surely you would have brought Will with you today!"

"Pardon?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes scanning the room as they adjusted to the lower light. Despite the fact that all of the windows were open to allow the air to circulate, the interior of the tavern was always too dark for Elizabeth's tastes.

"Will. I thought he would come with you today," Laura sounded bewildered at Elizabeth's apparent lack of understanding. "To play with the boys?"

"Oh! William!" she blurted out with embarrassment. "We usually call him William now since his father has come home. I forgot that his friends still call him Will." Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head at her own oversight. "He's with his father today. They have some _adventure_ planned," she added conspiratorially.

"I wish Nathaniel would make enough time to do something with his boys," Laura turned from Elizabeth and headed towards the rear of the room. "I almost hope this one is another girl for no reason other than I know what to do with those," she added, lightly rubbing her swollen midsection. Her small stature caused the bulge to appear more prominent than it would have on most women.

"I don't know as it will make a difference to me or not," Elizabeth commented idly.

"_Will_ make a difference? Do you have some news you would like to share?" Laura eternal quest for information had allowed her to catch Elizabeth's slip of the tongue.

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "No," she said. _Maybe._ "I suppose I should have said it _wouldn't _matter. I'm sure that should we be that fortunate to have more children that we would be happy either way."

"You're both young still. I know I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to find there was going to be an addition to the Turner family. Will…excuse me, _William_ would make a wonderful older brother."

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "I can't imagine anything he would like more at the moment. He mentions it constantly. I don't think he quite understands that just because you want something, it doesn't mean it's going to happen."

Laura pushed open the rear door of the tavern, revealing the courtyard beyond and the converted barracks where Estrella and her children now lived. "Somehow I can imagine that," she agreed, holding the door for Elizabeth. "I assume you know your way from here?"

Elizabeth tapped lightly at the door of the small home that had been creatively fashioned from the remains of the officer's quarters from when the East India Trading Company had, for all practical purposes, commandeered Port Royal. She dismissed the memories of the company from her mind and admired the structure for what it now was. While she had known that Will was a skilled craftsman when it came to working with his hands, she never ceased to be amazed at the quality of the finished product. In many ways, he was far more artist than anything—a quality that was not restricted to just smithing and carpentry.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Turner," Estrella said shyly, opening the door and admitting Elizabeth into the tiny living area. "Please come in and make yourself comfortable." She gestured towards the mismatched sitting chairs and threadbare settee, and then crossed the room to where a tea set rested on a side table.

Elizabeth stammered a rushed reply to her hostess before taking a seat in one of the chairs. Estrella's appearance had caught her off guard. Gone was the familiar drab brown dress made of rough fabric that had been accented with a simple white apron and cap. In its place was a much prettier, but still suitable dark blue gown. The white apron was still there, neatly draped over the swelling in Estrella's middle, but the cap had disappeared. Instead, Estrella wore her mousy brown hair in a braid that was neatly coiled at her neck. The change in Estrella's attire stood in stark contrast to her physical appearance. The lively and gregarious woman Elizabeth had been reintroduced to earlier in the summer was gone. In her place was a heavily pregnant woman who appeared to have all the ills of the world resting on her narrow shoulders. Elizabeth was well acquainted with the restless nights that had robbed her of her sleep when she was pregnant, but even that could not explain the dark purplish circles under Estrella's eyes. She looked to be on the brink of exhaustion. Elizabeth couldn't say for sure, but she was confident that whatever was stealing Estrella's strength was not simply a side effect of her condition or the aftermath of her work schedule. Something was weighing heavily on her mind. Something she was ashamed of. Something she was afraid to share. Elizabeth recognized the signs. She had seen this behavior many years before, shortly before Estrella's admission to being pregnant out of wedlock, followed by her hurried marriage and subsequent departure from Port Royal. _We can't have a woman of such loose morals serving as Miss Swann's chaperone, now can we?_

"I would never have imagined this from the outside," Elizabeth gushed uncomfortably, as she surveyed the room, taking in the worn furniture and the obviously much newer lace curtains in the windows. "It's quite cozy," she called out to Estrella who had disappeared behind a wall that divided the room into two sections.

Estrella returned with tea and placed it on the small table in the center of the area that served as a salon of sorts. "Thank you." She looked up at Elizabeth. "I will never be able to thank you and Will…Captain Turner, I mean…enough for what you have done for me and my children. I don't deserve it." Estrella clumsily eased herself onto the settee. "But I appreciate it more than you can know."

"Will. He's still just Will. There's no need to call him anything else," Elizabeth said almost shyly, again remembering that the woman in the room with her had been the first to be so bold as to mention the possibility of Elizabeth caring for Will more than she should. It still bothered Elizabeth that she had so quickly reprimanded Estrella, reminding her of her place in the household, all the while knowing what her maid had said was the absolute truth. She had long since been totally smitten with Will Turner, but too afraid of the possible repercussions to admit it. And yet, that had been the night everything had started to change. Elizabeth shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Estrella, there are things that Will and I owe you for, things that I should have told you, things I should have apologized for, but my own stubborn pride usually got in the way. Please think of this as your home for as long as you need. It _is _what you deserve."

Estrella chewed on her lower lip as she poured two cups of tea. She passed one to Elizabeth along with a golden brown, roundish pastry served on one of the delicate china dessert plates she had borrowed from Laura. Elizabeth caught Estrella's quickly disguised grimace of pain as she leaned back in her seat with her own tea in hand. It had been quite some time for her, but Elizabeth couldn't recall inevitable kicking of her baby to cause her that much discomfort. Perhaps Estrella's pregnancy was more difficult than hers had been and that was the reason behind her haggard appearance?

Elizabeth looked at the pastry that filled most of the plate she held and then smiled with delight. "Is this one of the cakes like the ones your mother used to make for us? I don't remember the last time I had one of these," she said, picking up the currant filled pastry and enthusiastically biting into it.

Estrella beamed with pride. "Yes, it is. I have quite a collection of her recipes. Mrs. Cavanaugh has been allowing me to use some of them at the tavern."

"You shouldn't just restrict yourself to the tavern! After your baby comes, perhaps you could sell these in the market? I know of two members of my household, of the masculine persuasion, that have an incurable sweet tooth. I'm sure that just the pair of them could keep you busy," Elizabeth commented with a hint of laughter in her voice, brushing pale crystals of demerara sugar from her bodice.

"I don't know as I could do that." Estrella spoke slowly, almost hesitantly.

"Of course you could! If you needed more room here, I'm sure we could arrange that and if Laura couldn't do without you on market days then surely your eldest is reliable enough to man a small stall. It would certainly allow you a bit more stability when it came to finances." Elizabeth's mind was already awhirl with plans for another, albeit tiny, business venture.

Estrella blushed and lowered her head. "I'm sorry, it's just not possible. The market is too…e_xposed_, and I can't risk that. It's still too dangerous." Her voice was tight with fear—something that Elizabeth had not expected.

"Dangerous? I'm afraid I don't understand." Elizabeth knew better than to discount Estrella's fears no matter what they were. She had learned long before that something that she might consider insignificant could be traumatic to someone else.

There were tears beginning to form in Estrella's eyes when she raised her head again, but she still avoided looking directly at Elizabeth. "I," she faltered, "I invited you to tea because I haven't been entirely honest with you and it has been weighing heavily on my mind." Her voice wavered as she tried to maintain her composure.

"If you mean telling Will and me that your family was still living here in Port Royal, I already knew that." Elizabeth waved her pastry laden hand in dismissal. "I tried to find them when I came back. Will was still away so I was desperate to find anyone I remembered. I honestly never thought of it again until just now," Elizabeth confided in an attempt to put Estrella's unwarranted fears to rest.

"No, ma'am." She returned her teacup to the table. "That's not it," she stopped speaking for a moment as she vainly tried to shift to a more comfortable position where she sat. Her forehead creased with worry for a moment before she met Elizabeth's eyes again. She drew a deep breath and began her story. "I'm not a widow. My husband, Thomas? He's not dead. I left him," she blurted in a rush.

Elizabeth froze for a moment, then slowly returned her tea and the partially eaten cake to the table. "I don't know what to say. That had never crossed my mind as a possibility."

Estrella wrung her hands and again looked away. "I'll understand if you would like me to leave here. Having a runaway wife in your employ might not be to your advantage." Estella's gaze returned to her own lap. "I've managed to save up a little money. You've been more than generous with my wages. But, if it's not too much to ask, may I stay at least until the baby comes? It will only be a few more weeks. Then I promise to go away and not bother you or Captain Turner again."

"Will," Elizabeth said reflexively. "I told you he's still just Will." She sat perfectly still and stared at Estrella for a moment, trying to process what she had just heard and wondering what to do. It didn't exactly seem like the kind of thing that would warrant Elizabeth consoling her former maid—they had never been _that_ close—but she felt the need to do something. "Estrella? Look at me. I'm quite sure you had very good reason and if you would rather not share that reason with me, I can accept that, but please understand that it has no bearing on whether you stay or go. Everything we've offered you—even what I suggested today—was because Will and I both felt some sense of obligation to you. Had it not been for your creativity, shall we say, Will and I would have hardly had any time alone until after our wedding." "_Not that we did even then", she thought. "_That being said, I do have to admit that I was never overly fond of Thomas and Will…well, Will had no use for him at all. I believe he implied that Thomas didn't have an honest bone in his body. Honestly, I think we both thought good riddance that day we met you in the square, but we would never have said anything unkind about him then. We both take not speaking ill of the dead a bit more seriously than most. "

Estrella sucked in air through her teeth like she was in pain. Elizabeth watched her and decided that most of what was wrong had nothing to do with the secrets Estrella has been keeping, but instead that this was a difficult pregnancy for her in more ways than one. Elizabeth was too well acquainted with the difficulties of facing the arrival of an infant without the child's father around. It briefly crossed her mind that the reason Estrella has left her husband was because she was carrying another man's child, but that seemed so unlike her. Even so, it couldn't be ruled out as a possibility. However, she resisted the temptation to ask since it wasn't her place. Whatever secrets Estrella still kept were well hidden or else Laura Cavanaugh would have long since had them out of her.

"He beat me," Estrella whispered almost inaudibly. "And he beat the children." She finally looked at Elizabeth with tears beginning to run down her face. "This is my seventh pregnancy. _Seven_. Can you imagine? Half of my babies have died." Estrella shivered at some memory she didn't share. "He seemed so pleased when T.J. was born. We had made it to Boston by then, but he had trouble finding steady work so he started spending too much time drinking. I had never seen him drunk before. How was I supposed to know he became a different man? That's when he started hitting me, but what could _I_ do? I was his wife, so it wasn't illegal, and he made sure the bruises weren't where they would show. When I was not quite eight months gone with our second child, he beat me so badly that I lost the baby. It was another boy, and although I knew he had come early because of what Thomas had done to me, it didn't stop him from blaming me. He disappeared a few months after that, leaving me to fend for myself with a baby who was not even two yet." Estrella reached behind her to rub at her back.

"But he came back, didn't he?" Elizabeth was already horrified, but she had a feeling that she had not heard the worst of it. An ominous roll of thunder in the distance added to her troubled mood.

"Yes. He was gone for maybe four or five months. He said he had signed on with a ship's crew and would be leaving for a while, but that I had better be there when he came back." Estrella turned her head towards the window as the delicate curtains snapped at the sudden breeze. "It had never occurred to me to leave him at that point. I meant it when I said for better or worse." That's how I was raised," she said defensively. "It wasn't until after he left that I realized that I was with child again. I lost that one too, but I never told him. I assumed that I wouldn't have any more living children because of the beatings I had taken, but obviously I was wrong." Estrella smiled at her statement and patted her belly. "It became a pattern with him. He would come home and stay until I was pregnant again and then he would leave and not return until after the baby was born. Jacob was born next and for a while things with Thomas weren't so bad. He had two sons and that seemed to make him proud—bragging rights I suppose— but it didn't last. He stayed home for a little more than a year that time and then as soon as I thought I was expecting again, he went back to sea." Estrella paused in her tale and leaned back against the settee. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on her forehead, despite the distinctly cooler air now blowing in from the approaching storm.

"Estrella, are you not feeling well?" Elizabeth was growing more concerned about her health than she had been when she had first arrived.

Estrella fanned herself with her hand. "I'm sure it's just the heat and being this big and all," she dismissed Elizabeth's concerns. "I had a little girl next," she said sadly.

"Amelia?" Elizabeth had only seen the child a few times, but had been immediately charmed by her. She couldn't say as much for her son's reaction. Girls, especially little ones who followed you around, were not his favorite companions.

"No, she came later. I named her Catherine. She was so tiny and delicate, almost like a doll."

"What happened to her?" Elizabeth asked hesitantly, already fearing the answer.

"Thomas returned home when she was around six months old. He had this grand plan to move us from Boston to Charleston. He said there was more work there, but I think that was when he started getting involved with pirates." Estrella cast a nervous glance at Elizabeth who didn't seem to react to the offhand mention. "Catherine didn't take to the water so well and was very ill. She wouldn't stop crying no matter what I did. Thomas was well into his cups as usual and couldn't stand the noise. He started shaking her." Estrella's voice was beginning to break with sorrow and grief. Tears began to run down her cheeks at the memory of that night. "He thought he had killed her. Truthfully, I did too. She wouldn't move and she didn't seem to be breathing."

Elizabeth's heart was breaking for the woman sitting in front of her. Losing a child was one of her greatest fears. The fact that the child's own father had been responsible for her death was more than she could fathom. Will had mourned the fact that he hadn't seen much of his son as an infant and yet from what Estrella was telling her, Thomas had seen their offspring as an inconvenience more than anything. It was also beginning to bother Elizabeth that Estrella's account was beginning to take on an air of confession. _What could she possibly have done that she feels the need for that?_

"She wasn't dead, was she?" Elizabeth offered in an attempt to get Estrella to continue.

"No. Yes. I honestly don't know." She swiped at the tears on her face and resumed her tale. "Thomas is rather superstitious. He didn't want to keep the body around, nor did he want to tell the Captain that Catherine had died. I think he knew people would think he had something to do with it." Outside the gentle patter of raindrops on the hard packed earth mimicked the tears that Estrella shed.

"What did he do?" A nervous chill was beginning to form in Elizabeth's heart.

"He tossed her overboard," Estrella murmured. She looked up at Elizabeth, visibly shaking now. "I thought I heard her cry when she hit the water," Estrella responded emotionlessly, almost as if she was in shock—as surely she had been that horrible night.

"Oh, God!" Elizabeth was justifiably horrified. A sudden memory of Estrella having claimed to see the _Dutchman _popped into her mind. _Was that when she saw it? _She knew Will had sometimes had to ferry children across to the other side. It was the one part of his duty that had nearly broken him and even now still gave him nightmares. Had he taken Catherine?

"As soon as we reached Charleston, Thomas signed on with another ship, a slaver, I think." Estrella shuddered with disgust as she said the words. He left me and the two boys to fend for ourselves in a city where we knew no one, but we got by. He was gone for over a year that time. I had started to hope that he would never come back, but he did. He didn't go back out to sea again for a while, but I don't know what he did. He would be gone for days at a time and then come home meaner and crueler than before. Within the year, I had another baby, Amelia." Estrella smiled at the mention of her daughter's name. The boys were only four and seven at the time, but they took it upon themselves to shield her from Thomas' tantrums. I began to grow more and more fearful that he would hurt her or even kill her like he had done Catherine, so I tried to leave him."

"So, this isn't the first time?" Elizabeth was beginning to feel that her own ordeal hadn't been so bad after all. She couldn't even begin to imagine being afraid of Will. He did have a temper—they both did— but it was well controlled and never misdirected towards his family.

"No," she replied, shaking her head solemnly. "I took the children and decided to make my way back to Boston. It was closer than coming back here and I knew some people there already. My mistake was going by sea. We only made it as far as Wilmington before he caught up with us. He may not have wanted a family, but he didn't want to lose any of his possessions. That's all we were to him—possessions. He was very kind to us on the return trip to Charleston, but I knew it was all for show. The closer we got to South Carolina, the more apprehensive I became and with good reason." Estrella stopped abruptly and tensed up in anger and fear. The rain fell harder, almost as if Estrella's emotions were controlling it.

"Estrella? You don't have to continue if you don't want to. I fully understand why you didn't tell me the truth at first. There's no need to even tell Will what happened, he'll trust my judgment."

Estrella sniffled and nodded faintly. "I'm sure that I don't have to tell you how fortunate you are to have him."

"I know. I thank God every morning that I wake up and he's there." _Because for so long, he wasn't. _

A faint smile appeared on Estrella's face. "Even if I was too bold to suggest such a thing?

Elizabeth smiled back. "Most especially because of that."

"I don't mean to burden you with the details of my bad choices, but I want you to know everything. Just in case you change your mind about my staying on here. "

"You're _not_ a burden and I _won't_ be changing my mind, but I don't expect you to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Estrella shifted awkwardly again and rubbed at her lower back. Her face betrayed that she was in serious discomfort. "As soon as we returned to Charleston, Thomas locked the children outside and took his anger out on me. He beat me until I couldn't stand on my own. Some of my teeth were loose, one eye was swollen shut and I think he may have broken some of my fingers. But that wasn't the worst of it. He used me. I'm his wife and he treated me with less respect than a common whore. He did things to me that were…unnatural."

"You don't have to tell me this," Elizabeth reminded her, although she was a tiny bit curious as to what Estrella considered "unnatural." She and Will had been known to indulge in some creativity, but it had to be a whole different perspective when you were being forced to do something that you were not comfortable with, by someone you were afraid of. Even more so, if that someone was the man you had once thought you loved.

"Yes, ma'am. I know." She drew in another deep breath and slowly exhaled. "He left that night. I think he thought I wouldn't survive until the next morning, and he didn't want to chance being arrested for murder." She picked up her cup of rapidly cooling tea and took a couple of sips before setting it back on the table. "We didn't see him again until nine months ago. He just showed up one evening, forced his way inside and did what he pleased. He was there a bit less than two months before he left again, but he promised that he would be back and that if I wasn't there, he would hunt me down again and this time, he would kill me. He had broken almost every promise he had ever made to me, but that was a promise that I was sure he intended to keep, but I didn't know what to do." She flinched at the sound of another crack of thunder.

"But you're here now, so you must have gotten the courage from somewhere," Elizabeth suggested encouragingly.

Estrella placed on hand flat on her stomach. "This. He was becoming more and more aggressive to the children. He was openly disgusted by Amelia just because she was born female. I had to take the chance. That was six months ago. I wasn't even sure I was really pregnant again, but I wasn't willing to wait and see. "

"What did you do differently this time?" Elizabeth was beginning to see Estrella in an entirely different light. She was far more determined and resourceful than Elizabeth would ever have guessed, but on the other hand, being a mother sometimes made you capable of things you would never have imagined. How well she knew that!

"I found out which ship he had signed on, where it was headed and for how long. Then I just started making my way to New Orleans. I thought for sure I could find passage back to here once I made it that far."

"New Orleans?" Elizabeth tried to comprehend what that implied. "How did you get from Charleston to New Orleans?"

"Rivers mostly. Sometimes we had to travel by land, but mostly I worked as a cook anywhere I could in exchange for our passage and board. Doing that once we got to New Orleans was a bit more difficult, but we made it here around four months ago."

"Why didn't you come ask me for help then?" Elizabeth was a bit perplexed.

"My pride, I suppose. And I found out that you already had a maid and a cook. Of course, had I asked I would have learned that Mercedes isn't exactly your maid, is she?" Estrella sounded hopeful, but Elizabeth couldn't tell if it was because she wanted her to clarify Mercedes' place in the household, or if she wanted to be offered a position there herself.

"No, she's not. She's more like my—our—ward, as is Evan. I took them in while Will was away." Elizabeth winced internally at her unintentional slip. Estrella might have been forthcoming with her about her whereabouts since she had left Port Royal the first time, but Elizabeth wasn't in a position to be quite so magnanimous. She knew she had been lucky that Estrella apparently hadn't noticed her reference to Will being away the first time she had said it.

"Away?" Estrella didn't miss much.

"At sea. I couldn't accompany him, what with William and all." _And him being in the land of the dead._

"Oh." Estrella sounded disappointed.

"Is Thomas the reason you said that having a stall in the market would be…what did you call it? Too exposed?" Elizabeth tactfully redirected the conversation.

"Yes. I'm afraid he'll find me. Working here I can stay out of view a bit easier. Although I do send TJ to the docks every time a ship comes in, just to make sure he's not on it, but I don't know what good that does."

"Any particular reason? If he's on one of my ships, he won't be for much longer." Elizabeth's voice was cold.

"I'm sure he turned pirate. He wouldn't exactly come sailing in on a legitimate trader, now would he?" Estrella said sarcastically, but in a way that Elizabeth could tell that it wasn't directed at her.

"I see your point. You would think I would have remembered something like that having been kidnapped by pirates and all." _Not to mention that I'm their King. _Elizabeth thought for a second. "I suppose I can discreetly tell my men to be on the lookout for him." Elizabeth was careful to not specify which _men _she meant. After all, what was the point of being the Pirate King if you couldn't put them to use for your own purposes from time to time? It certainly didn't hurt that Estrella assumed she was only speaking of her shipping company, but it wasn't as if she had lied. It was just that her offer carried far more weight than it appeared.

"That would be kind of you."

"There is one more thing I would like to ask you," Elizabeth said cautiously. "When Will and I first met you that day in the square. You said Thomas had been taken by the _Flying Dutchman. _Why?"

"I'm not sure really. I know you won't believe me, but I _have _seen it. It's one of those images that will always haunt me."

_As it does me. _Elizabeth gathered her strength to continue. "Was it when Catherine died?"

"Yes, how do you know that?" Estrella sounded puzzled.

"I do believe you. I've seen it too." Elizabeth responded reassuringly, whether to herself or to Estrella wasn't clear.

"It wasn't what I expected. The stories I had heard all of my life were of a ghost ship captained by Davy Jones and crewed by men who had been damned for all eternity." Estrella stared at nothing in particular as she conjured up in her mind the image of the ship she had seen that night.

"What did you see?" Elizabeth was truly curious. On the few occasions she'd had the chance to see the ship, she was so focused on seeing Will that she hardly noticed it. She knew it looked nothing like it had when she had been on board, but as to the extent of the changes? She had never really given them much thought.

"It's a beautiful ship, almost peaceful looking, whiter than any ship I've ever seen. I remember looking across—Thomas either couldn't see it or couldn't be bothered to notice—and seeing just one man standing on deck. If there were more crew members, I couldn't see them."

"What—what did he look like?" Elizabeth knew good and well that she was coming dangerously close to things she knew she shouldn't speak of.

"Not what I expected, that's for sure." Estrella's face showed a discomfort that her voice did not reflect nor had anything to do with the subject matter. "I had always been told that Davy Jones used to be a man, but that he no longer was, and that he had the appearance of some forgotten creature of the depths. I know it was nothing more than a tale to frighten young children, but I was told he was far larger than any man and a horror to look upon." She stopped abruptly.

"Are you sure you're feeling well? Is there something wrong?" Elizabeth was now sure that whatever was causing Estrella's discomfort had to have something to do with her baby—a baby that wasn't due for another month and a half.

"I'll be fine. It's just the normal aches and pains that come with being pregnant. You have a child; surely you remember that the closer it got to your time, the more uncomfortable you felt?" Estrella easily dismissed Elizabeth's concerns and then continued with her story. "The man I saw wasn't a monster. I'm sure of that. He was too far away for me to really see him, well but there seemed to be an overwhelming sense of sadness surrounding him." An embarrassed smile appeared on her face. "It sounds completely foolish, I know."

"No, it's not foolish at all, but you're right in that not many people would believe you. I wouldn't have before."

"Before what?" Despite her ongoing physical distress, she was still as curious as she had always been—just not as nosy as Laura.

"Before I saw it. The stories we were told as children were mostly true, but they're not any more. The crew is still made up of men who died at sea, but Davy Jones is gone. I was there when he—what do you call it when an immortal being ceases to exist? Somehow died doesn't sound quite right." Elizabeth carefully watched her companion looking for any reaction, but Estrella seemed distracted.

Estrella shook her head as if disagreeing with someone she couldn't see. Her eyes widened in shock as she slowly processed what Elizabeth had said. "_There_? You were there? As in onboard the _Dutchman? _Where was Will that he let such a thing happen to you?" Estrella seemed appalled to have finally found a flaw in Will's character.

"He was already there. I followed him," answered a tad defensively.

Estrella recoiled at Elizabeth's response. Obviously, she had hit some kind of nerve, but about what? "Did you see him die?"

_I saw both of them die. _Elizabeth felt a sudden rush of tears well up, but quickly fought them back down. "I don't remember much of it, but I was there when it happened." Elizabeth heard the tremor in her own voice and hoped Estella didn't notice.

"I can't imagine being on hand for something like that and not remembering it. And what of Cap…I mean, Will?" she asked, pushing just a bit further.

"What of him?" Elizabeth asked a little too quickly.

"Does he remember it?" Estrella shifted again, but this time she groaned as she did.

"I don't know if he remembers or not. We agreed never to speak of it." _Because he is the reason I don't remember Jones' demise. I was too focused on the fact that I was about to lose Will too. That image will forever be branded into my brain. What happened to that monster meant nothing to me._

Elizabeth noticed that Estrella did not appear to hear her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face as deathly pale and the sweat forming on her brow was far more than one would expect even in the oppressive August heat. She stifled a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a cry of pain as she leaned forward, clutching her arms protectively over her mid section. 

"Estrella!" Elizabeth sprung from her chair and went to her friend's aid. "What is it? Is it the baby? Do you want me to fetch the doctor?" Elizabeth struggled to keep calm, she was all too well aware of the fear a mother felt when she thought her baby was coming too early.

Estrella nodded and begin panting from the pain. She moaned in agony as she tried to stand. "It's too early, it's too early," she began chanting quietly as she leaned on Elizabeth for support.

"Let me help you to your bed. Then I'll send for someone. I'm afraid I'm not the one to rely on in situations like this." Elizabeth's heart was pounding faster with each passing moment. Anxiety filled memories of her own kept resurfacing along with the fears she had for the child she thought she might be carrying. The sight of blood staining the back of Estrella's dress and the cushions of the settee only increased her alarm.

The only light in the room was from a single candle flickering on the nightstand. The only sound was from Estrella's labored breathing as she lay unmoving on the narrow bed. Upon first inspection, she appeared to be sleeping, but Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure if that was the case. She had lost so much blood during the delivery, that she had drifted into unconsciousness shortly after her baby, a girl she had called Esperanza, slipped into and out of the world. Elizabeth wasn't even sure if Estrella had been aware that her daughter was stillborn and as harsh as it sounded, it was perhaps best for all concerned. The doctor who had come at Laura's insistence hadn't given them much hope for Estrella's survival, but thus far, she had hung on.

Although Laura had graciously volunteered to sit with EStrella, Elizabeth had refused her offer. Laura had the tavern to run, three children of her own to take care of and Estrella's three grief stricken offspring to worry about at the moment. Besides, Will and William were away. She had no pressing business at home so she was the logical choice to stay. All that needed to be done was to send a message to the house telling them what had happened and where she would be. Everything would work out fine if she could help it. Or at least it would be fine in her world. To think that her biggest concern that morning had been the idea of sleeping without Will next to her. How selfish could she be? It was true that their life together hadn't been easy, but they had always had love and hope to keep them moving forward. All Estrella's family ever had was fear and despair. That realization made Elizabeth even more determined to do what she could to pull Estrella though her present condition and to take action to see that Thomas Brantley never darkened her door again.

Elizabeth rose from her chair, dampened a clean rag in the washbasin, wrung out the excess water and began to wipe Estrella's forehead with it. She didn't feel feverish now. Elizabeth took that as a good sign. She dropped the cloth back into the basin and resettled herself into the chair. She was hesitant to close her eyes for fear she would drift off to sleep and not notice if Estrella woke up and needed her or even worse, slipped away unnoticed. In an effort to force some optimism where none existed, she made plans to cover for the woman she now saw as more of a friend than an employee as she convalesced and grieved for yet another child she had lost.

Laura herself was nearly six months along in her pregnancy and while the tiny woman was a strong as an ox, it was unreasonable to ask her to shoulder the burden of six children and her own responsibilities at the tavern. The only immediate solution that Elizabeth could foresee was to send Mercedes to work in Estrella's place. If her assistance wasn't needed in the kitchens then she could sit with the woman who had once held the position she ostensibly now held. Elizabeth was sure that Mercedes wouldn't mind, even without the lure of extra wages for the work. Truthfully, Elizabeth had halfway expected Mercedes to show up long before things took a turn for the worse. It was just one of those things she did, with or without her mysterious gift.

Estrella stirred and murmured something unintelligible in her sleep. Elizabeth started at the noise, but quickly settled back down upon realizing that the movement and sound had been mostly involuntary—it was neither a sign of improvement or decline. She supposed that under the circumstances, it was the best she could hope for at the moment. Elizabeth found a less uncomfortable position in the chair, rested one hand on her stomach and prayed that her unfounded suspicions about her own pregnancy were right, before drifting off into a fitful slumber.


	27. Moving Forward

It was early afternoon by the time Will departed the house on Carmen Street, headed for the docks and the long delayed adventure he and William had been planning for the better part of a month. After endless days of severe thunderstorms, it had finally dawned the perfect day for the short jaunt by boat to the salt ponds on the opposite side of the bay from Port Royal. William, as was to be expected, was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of an overnight trip with just his father. Elizabeth had vainly encouraged their son to curb his enthusiasm, but Will had learned shortly after his return that it was pointless to even try. He could still remember how he had eagerly anticipated even the most insignificant amount of time he had been able to spend with his own father, as well as the sting of disappointment when things hadn't turned out as he planned. It was the memory of those failed father-son excursions that kept Will from postponing the trip once again.

Not for the first time in his life, and certainly not for the last, Will found himself in a troublesome position born of inconvenience. On one hand he had the bargain he had made with William to show him how to read the stars at night. The boy had shown amazing restraint and not hounded his father to honor his promise, but only because he, unlike most children his age, knew firsthand that the weather was not something to be dealt with lightly. Even taking that into consideration, William had begun to despair of ever venturing out into open water with the father he idolized. To delay the trip any longer would put Will in danger of breaking not only a promise to his son, but also to himself. After having endured his fair share of hardships and disappointments during his childhood, Will had promised himself—before he knew of William's impending birth even—that he would do everything within his power to never fail any of his children with his actions.

One of Will's other concerns—the one that had caused the modification in his plans for the day—was Elizabeth's behavior. He had noticed her uncharacteristic agitation almost from the second she had woken up that morning. Admittedly, she had good reason to be a bit out of sorts. He knew that she had never spent much time apart for William. Even then it had only been when circumstances made it completely unavoidable or for some reason she feared for his safety in being with her. Today would also be the first time since Will's return home that he would venture very far from her side. The thought made Will anxious. It would only make sense that in turn, it would be cause for concern for Elizabeth too. The rather mundane fact that he would be returning to the sea, albeit for just one day, had to have crossed her mind too. The difference was that this time he would come back the next day.

If those had been their only concerns then perhaps Will wouldn't have felt so guilty at leaving his wife and other responsibilities behind today. After all, they lived on an island. They owned a shipping company. Elizabeth had even given him his own, as yet unnamed, ship. It was unreasonable to think that he would ever intend to or even be able to keep his feet on dry land for the rest of his life. And now that they had the freedom to allow William to spread his wings, it was understandable that Elizabeth might have some difficulty in allowing it. As a mother, she was naturally protective of her only child. Taking into consideration the additional reasons she'd had to be even more cautious than most parents didn't make the process any less stressful. It still felt strange to know that they were no longer being hunted by agents of the East India Trading Company and that Will was free of his obligation to the _Dutchman_. Those two factors had been such a part of all their lives for so long that their absence was noticeable—even more so in that the sense of wariness that had been ingrained into the Turners as a means to survive had scarcely diminished. In spite of that, they were finally learning to live as a normal family—or at least as normally as people with their experiences could.

But returning to the water wasn't what had Will concerned the most. After weeks of procrastination and insignificant excuses, Elizabeth was finally going to meet with her former maid, Estrella, that afternoon. They all knew the reunion was long overdue, for Estrella was perhaps the only other person in Port Royal who had first- hand knowledge of the Turner's initial—albeit unintentional—foray into piracy. And while she probably knew little to nothing of the events of the past eleven years or more, she most likely had just enough information to unintentionally make things inconveniently awkward. There was also the fact that there was something about Estrella's recount of her return to Port Royal that did not ring true with Will. Elizabeth had attributed the discrepancies to Estrella's naturally flighty and gregarious personality, but Will still believed there was something more she was just not telling them, although as to what it could be he had no idea.

While any one of the matters at hand could have explained Elizabeth's anxiety, what they didn't explain was the underlying thread of anticipation that tied everything together. When Will had inquired about the source of her cautiously subdued excitement, she had given him a decidedly confused look, as if she had not been aware of it herself. Oddly enough, Will had believed her, attributing her subconscious actions to the unadorned fact that they were continuing to make great strides forward in their quest to carve out a normal existence for themselves. Satisfied that there was nothing actually _wrong_ with Elizabeth, he had gently kissed her farewell and set out on his way.

The walk from the Turner's home to the Customs House was a long one. Under normal circumstances any given one of them would have taken some manner of conveyance other than their own feet, but today Will was grateful for the time alone to think. For the past month, he had risen before the crack of dawn and made his way in the darkness to the blacksmith shop that he now owned. Thus far, all he had done was spend every morning pounding away at the molten iron, forcing it to do as he pleased. It had taken nearly three weeks of nonstop work on nothing in particular before he would even admit that he had begun to regain his feel for the for the metal he had trained to work with for so many years. In the past few days, he had produced a few tools that he intended to keep instead of melting them back into the same misshapen lumps of iron they had been to start with. But making new tools wasn't the only project he had undertaken since he had resumed his former trade.

Will had taken the set of jeweler's tools that he had brought with him from _The Dutchman_ to the smithy and hidden them in his former room. Truthfully, he had felt rather foolish doing such a thing, but most days Evan accompanied him to the shop, and Will was adamant about not revealing his secondary project to anyone—most especially Elizabeth. Every day, after Evan had left to return home to his other duties, Will had stayed behind to work undisturbed. There was no reason for Evan to not believe the excuse he gave of wanting no interruptions and requiring absolute silence while he worked at remastering the tedious and intricate process of inlaying fine gold wire into intricate scrolls and arabesques to grace the hilt of a sword. Will's innate sense of artistry paired with his unmatched expertise when it came to forging blades had put his painstakingly crafted swords in high demand. With any luck, that same appeal that his work had had years before would soon be restored.

Truthfully, Will had lost none of his skills related to manipulating the delicate gold strands into the pattern that he had chosen. But while what he had told Evan wasn't the truth, it wasn't entirely a lie either. He was relearning a skill that he had seldom used— even then only for a very specific purpose—and he _was _working with gold. The difference being that instead of carefully drawn wire, he was now working with solid chunks of the glossy yellow metal. After a month of endlessly frustrating trial and error, he had just today managed to fashion something almost, but not quite, what he had in mind. Even as he returned the misshapen metal circle to the cold, nondescript lump it had originally been, he had felt hopeful that he would master his technique in time to meet his self-imposed deadline.

That deadline and some of its associations were another source of consternation for him. There was no real reason to have Elizabeth's gift completed by the time they were scheduled to attend the Ball. It was just one of those arbitrary things he had decided he needed to wrap up before he set his next plan into motion. When the idea –which he had not yet shared with anyone, nor planned to—popped into his head the day Mrs. Busby had stormed the house he hadn't had the vaguest idea how to accomplish it. Then, as if by divine intervention, Elizabeth had broken the news to him that they were obligated to attend the Governor's Ball. He had acted irritated with the prospect for no reason other than that was what she would expect him to do, but secretly he was looking forward to the opportunity, albeit not for the reasons anyone else might. Try as he might, he didn't think he would ever learn to care for evenings spent in stuffy, crowded ballrooms, wearing uncomfortable clothing, and being forced to engage in endless chit-chat. The only thing he had ever truly enjoyed about the events was the opportunity to spend time with Elizabeth. On those nights, it was not only permissible, but expected, that he hold her close to dance or to escort her outside for a bit of fresh air. A smile crept across his face at the memory of some of those moonlit walks and the incongruity of being allowed so much more leeway as far as physical contact was concerned at a private, but well attended event. If Mrs. Busby had only known…

Will was still a fair distance from his destination when he spied the donkey cart from the smithy—sans requisite quadruped and seemingly abandoned—towards the end of the dock. Even at his current position a few hundred feet away, he could tell that the undersized wagon was still laden with the over abundance of supplies that had been packed for his and William's oft postponed adventure. Will was temporarily at a loss as to the reasoning behind Evan and William being derelict in their current duty. Where could they have gone? And why had they taken the donkey with them? Under normal circumstances, it would have been risky at best to leave the cart unattended, but then again, it wasn't exactly as deserted as it seemed. In actuality, Brigand, the Turner family's monster-sized dog, had stationed himself so as to discourage anyone who was of a mind to pilfer the foodstuffs and other useful items that were still neatly packed in the bed of the cart. Everyone gave the dog a wide berth no matter where they were.

The cart was primarily used to haul goods between the Customs House and the Turner's home, and in a few hours, it would return to that duty. Conveniently or coincidentally, one of the Turner-Castillo ships—The _Soñador_—had made port the day before. As was Elizabeth's habit and right, she would send Evan, sometimes with Mercedes in tow, as soon as the cargo was unloaded to ensure that she got first choice of what she needed or wanted—and to see what other unexpected items there might be of interest to her or her household among the contents. The pair would then supervise the loading of the cart and then make their way home with whatever goods they had acquired. After all, what was the point of owning a shipping company if you couldn't have first pick of the wares?

But for today only, the procedure had been modified because of Will and William's intended jaunt to the salt ponds across the bay. The wagon had been packed with the supplies that the Turner men had decided they would need, then repacked after the addition of things that the women of the household thought they might need. Every time Will turned around it seemed that either Elizabeth or Miss Mary was tucking yet another carefully wrapped bundle in among the bounty that was already there. After more than one false start to add yet one more thing, Evan, carefully penned list in hand, had departed for the docks. With only a little cajoling Will had persuaded William to accompany Evan under the guise of helping Evan decide what they might want from the shipment. Mercedes, oddly enough, opted to stay at home pleading some vague, but urgent task she must attend to.

Will shook his head in disbelief as he approached the cart and once again noted the excess of supplies that had been neatly packed inside. As always, it amused Will at how effective Brigand was as a guard dog. Just his size alone was enough to discourage even the most daring of plunderers. Add to that the deep rumble that was his all purpose growl and greeting, and few people were even tempted to venture close to the canine. Only the members of the household knew that Brigand was in reality, _mostly_ harmless. No one would have been surprised to learn that he would have allowed anything and everything to be spirited away in exchange for a scratch behind the ears and a tummy rub. As far as Will knew, there was only one thing that would cause Brigand's behavior to match his appearance—William. Even now, Will was positive that Brigand was worried more about when his young master would reappear than he was about the goods he was left to guard.

Brigand thumped his tail and grumbled his traditional greeting –never once turning his attention from his self-imposed vigil for his boy—as Will approached the cart, leaned against one side and stared out at the water. If asked, Will would have admitted that the day was perfect for sailing, the first one after nearly a month of ceaseless foul weather, but he halfway wished that William would change his mind about going on their trip today. Even though he had made his choice, he still found himself torn between a promise made to his son and concern for his wife. It didn't matter that Elizabeth had repeatedly assured him that she was fine. It was a feeling he did not enjoy and would make every effort not to repeat.

"Papa!" William's elated cry split the air.

Instantly recognizing his son's voice, Will turned towards the direction from which the sound had come. His forehead crinkled slightly in confusion at the sight of William and Evan headed towards him in yet another cart, being pulled by the same froward donkey that they had left with earlier. His expression changed to one of unrestrained cheer as he watched William fearlessly maneuver his way to the edge of the wooden bench and then drop to the ground in a dead run. The unrestrained joy of their reunion would have made it difficult for anyone who did not know better to have guessed that it hadn't even been two hours since the pair had last seen each other. Will stepped out from where he had been standing and made ready for the leap he knew was coming.

"You're almost too big for me to do this, you know," Will commented casually, hugging William to him, and noting gratefully that his son was small for his age.

"I know," William agreed sadly. "But today is special."

"Yes, today _is_ special." _As are all of them now._

"Papa, which boat are we taking?" William asked as his father set him back on his feet. "I like that one, "he announced, pointing to one of the sloops anchored in the harbor.

Will fought to contain his laughter. "First, we couldn't sail that with just the two of us and secondly, we don't own that one. Trust me when I say that the British Royal Navy frowns upon people borrowing their ships without asking."

"Isn't that the excuse Jack uses when he's caught stealing?" Evan interjected, having just arrived at the scene.

Will nodded his head. "And that would be what makes him a pirate. Something I don't care to be accused of again," he said impassively. "Speaking of Jack and unauthorized borrowing," he changed the subject slightly and redirected his attention to the impatient nine-year old who was now rummaging through the supplies that had at one point been neatly packed into the wagon, "We're taking that one." Will gestured to a rather small, unassuming, single masted ship floating quietly alongside the pier.

William ceased his search and popped his head up. "Le Cynge?" he asked, his pronunciation of the French name flawless, but tinged with disappointment.

"Yes, _Le_ however you say it. I'm afraid your mother repeatedly pointed out that I never pronounced it correctly, so I quit even trying. I just called it the boat," Will shrugged his shoulders.

"But it's so small!" William complained.

"Yes, it is, but it's still bigger than we need for our purposes. Besides, I can tell you some stories about it—maybe even one about Jack." Will leaned over the side of the wagon to see what William had uncovered, not in the least surprised to find it was something to eat. _I remember being nine and always being hungry, but not just because I was a growing boy._

William handed his father a perfectly ripened banana before nabbing one for himself. "Will it be a good story?" he asked impishly, plucking another banana from the bunch and handing it to Evan.

"Have I told you one that wasn't?" Will retorted, wondering when and how this habit of making playful negotiations with his son had started –not that he didn't enjoy it. It was just that it was a level of familiarity he had never achieved with his own father, not even during their decade at sea together.

"No, sir," William mumbled, his mouth full of partially chewed banana.

"Speaking of stories, would anyone care to explain the reason for two wagons?" Will asked, looking between William and Evan.

"Broken axle," Evan supplied.

Will looked at the wagon and blinked as if waking himself from a deep sleep. Axles were one of the more important things he had been called upon to repair during his days as a blacksmith and yet he hadn't even noticed this one. "I can fix that," he said softly, more to himself than anyone.

"But Papa, you promised."

Will looked at William slightly perplexed, not having initially realized that he had spoken out loud. "I didn't mean _now_," he clarified, ruffling the boy's hair.

Evan reluctantly interrupted the interaction between both Wills. Having regretfully spent more time around William than Will had, he knew how impatient the boy was to be on their way. Evan certainly didn't blame him. The task he had been assigned had turned into far more than he had bargained for and he was more than ready to get things underway on all counts. "Why don't I help you two load your…" Evan looked at the back of the wagon with a bemused look,"…cargo? And then I'll take care of the wagons and such. I think I can rig up a temporary fix to get this one home," he gestured to the one with the broken axle, "but it might not be until in the morning. They're still unloading the Soñador, so I'm going to take the axle back to the shop to work on it. Mr. Davidson was kind enough to let me borrow this one," he said gesturing to the cart, "until I can get ours repaired."

"That sounds like the perfect solution. It's a simple enough repair that you should be able to manage it without any supervision," Will agreed, helping William out of the wagon bed and then hefting one of the bundles over his shoulder. Whatever Elizabeth and Miss Mary had packed was a not only a mystery, but also more than a little cumbersome, despite its insignificant weight.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Without the convenience of being able to move the wagon closer to the dock and the awaiting _Cygne_, it took well over an hour to see to the unloading of one, to the loading of the other, but the time had passed quickly, and now they were on their way. Will had suddenly, and unexpectedly, realized that he missed being on the water and was anxious to be free of the crowded marina. William had scarcely managed to control his excitement long enough to be of use as they prepared for their departure. His tenuously maintained restraint had not gone unnoticed by his father, who was secretly impressed with the boy's ability to take care of what he _should_ do before he did what he wanted to do. While he had already acquired that skill by the time he had turned nine, for him it had been out of necessity to care for himself and his mother as well as he could. William certainly hadn't had anywhere near as many responsibilities as Will had had as a child, but his unorthodox upbringing was bound to have left some lasting influence on his behavior.

Will drew in a deep lungful of the clean, salt air as he watched Port Royal shrinking on the horizon. No matter where they went in the bay, they would never be far from home, but _home_ would not always be visible. No matter how much Will had wanted to be back to sea today, what he wanted the most was still safely ensconced in Port Royal. As such, he was grateful for the chance to have a tiny taste of what life at sea had been like, all while knowing he could return to Elizabeth in the space of a few hours.

_"We burn up the city, we're really a fright…" _

The sound of his son's singing drew Will's attention. William was completely oblivious to his audience as he continued his performance, all while meticulously going through all of the tasks to sail the ship properly. The realization that William— had he been strong enough— could have set sail by himself, hit Will hard. Realistically, it made perfect sense that the boy would be an extraordinarily capable sailor from a very young age. He had spent a large portion of his scant nine years aboard one ship or another with his mother, as she alternately fled the East India Trading Company, ruled the Brethren Court, and fought to clear both Will's name and her own. He had even made his entrance into this world on board the _Black Pearl_ – a fact that Will found oddly amusing, if for no other reason than to picture what Jack's reaction had been to the prospect of a baby being birthed in his cabin . It was only logical that a boy as clever as William would have badgered anyone and everyone to show him how to run a ship. _And yet, somehow I managed to convince myself that this would be something I could teach him_. The thought saddened Will, but not enough to distract him from what William's ultimate goal had been – to spend time with just his father. All in all, it seemed a fair trade.

"Your mother taught you that song, didn't she?" Will asked, hiding the laughter in his voice. William looked so serious going about his business that Will was hesitant to show his own amusement at the moment.

William looked quizzically at his father, not having realized he had been singing. An impish smile split his face. "Yes sir. She used to sing it to me when I was a baby."

"I have to say it leaves something to be desired as a lullaby," Will deadpanned.

William giggled. "She sang those too, but I'm too big for those now."

"I can see that," Will responded, nodding his head towards the ropes that William had expertly tied off.

William plopped himself down on the deck and looked at his father, a plan clearly in mind. "Do you know what I'm _not_ too big for?"

William crossed to him and joined him in a seated position on the decking, a bemused look on his face. "I'm sure I have no idea. Do you care to enlighten me?"

"Stories."

"Stories?" Will echoed, remembering his earlier promise to tell William some tales about the tiny ship that they were captaining at the moment. "What kinds of stories?" He asked, feigning ignorance, but failing miserably. Like Elizabeth, their son could see right through him.

William signed dramatically and rolled his big brown eyes. "_Papa!_" William sounded exasperated. "You _know_ what stories. You're just being silly."

_Because for the first and only time in my thirty-two years, I can _afford_ to be "silly" as he puts it. _"I suppose you want to hear about the _Cygne_ first?"

William's eyes twinkled in anticipation. "Yes, sir. I want to know why mama worked so hard to get it back. Tell me how she got it the first time and why that made it so special to her."

Will chewed his lower lip while forming an answer to that request. "I think…no, I'm sure, that those are two entirely different stories. And that one of them…"

"Will have to wait until I'm older? I'm beginning to think all of the good stories have to wait until I'm older," William huffed indignantly.

Will started laughing at William's outburst. "I wasn't going to say that, but now that you mention it, I think that might be the case. I was actually going to say that one of them would be of no interest to you, but either way, there are some stories that aren't meant for sharing. When you're older, you'll understand that a bit better."

William rolled his eyes and shook his head playfully at his father's explanation. "Then I suppose the one about how Mama got the ship in the first place will have to do."

"I'm glad we agree on that," Will said with mock seriousness before the pair of them began laughing at each other again.

"Papa," William whined impatiently, but unconvincingly, around his own fits of giggles.

Will regained his composure and looked at William, his head slightly tilted as if pondering some unsolvable puzzle. "Do you know anything of how your mother got _Le Cygne_?"

"She bought it from some man who was using it as a fishing boat. She said it had belonged to Grandfather Swann when she was younger," William answered with all the confidence of a young boy who was sure he had all the answers.

"I meant before that, before your grandfather owned it, before it was called _Le Cygne,_" Will knew even before the words came from his mouth, that any mention of Elizabeth's life before she had been forced to leave Port Royal was guaranteed to hold William's interest. The same applied to tales of Will's youth. The only thing that fascinated William more were accounts of things Will and Elizabeth had experienced together before he had been born. Sadly, there were not as many of those stories as there should have been.

"No, sir. I guess I just thought it had always been here," William's brow crinkled as he contemplated the idea that the tiny ship had once had a purpose other than shuttling members of his grandfather's staff between islands, much as it now did for agents of the family business.

"_This_," Will said, gesturing grandly at the boat, "is the very ship that brought Jack to Port Royal for the first time." He studied William's face looking for a reaction before adding, "or at least the first time that I know of."

"Really?" William responded disbelievingly. "I thought Uncle Captain Jack always sailed on the _Black Pearl."_

Will raised an eyebrow, prompting William to rethink his answer, while Will himself, once again, tried to reconcile himself with the fact that William truly thought of Jack as his uncle. It was bad enough to hear him referred to as such, but the addition of "captain" to the otherwise mundane honorific –apparently at Jack's insistence—made the whole idea seem far more absurd than it actually was. When Will had first heard Jack referred to as such, he was appalled, but aware that what William called Jack was not a battle he wished to enter. As it was, Will would not have been surprised to learn that Barbossa insisted on being referred to as "grandfather" in yet another gambit in the never ending battle of one-upmanship between the two erstwhile pirates. Will supposed he should be grateful that the pair hadn't escalated things any further as far as names went.

"I guess he doesn't sail it when it's Uncle Hector's turn, does he?" William nodded in agreement with himself.

"Turns? I'm not sure as I would call it that. They've been fighting over the _Pearl _since I was your age, maybe even longer." Will paused for a moment, trying to remember how long the tug of war for the _Black Pearl_ had been in progress. He shook his head as he surrendered his search for that memory. "No, when Jack came here, he hadn't seen the _Pearl_ in ten years or more, but he was looking for it."

"He thought it was in _Port Royal_?" The idea that a pirate ship had ever been peacefully anchored in Port Royal was unfathomable.

"No," Will stifled a laugh, "he came here because _Le Cygne_, or rather the _Jolly Mon_ as it was called then, was sinking. He had nowhere else he could go." Will certainly hadn't found anything amusing about Jack's arrival that day, but in hindsight, the details surrounding it were so typically Jack that Will had to laugh.

"So it foundered right here in the harbor?" William was still confused about what his father found so amusing.

"It didn't just founder. It outright sank—right at the dock no less. Had it been any further out they would have just left it to the sea, but it couldn't have been any more in the way, so the Royal Navy salvaged it. After that, it became property of the Crown, which in this case meant that your grandfather was responsible for it."

"Why didn't Uncle Captain Jack ask Grandfather to give it back to him? It was his ship!" William was indignant.

"Well, first, Jack was a convicted pirate, he would have been hanged had your grandfather had his way about it, but you know how that turned out," Will shrugged his shoulders, "and second, it wasn't Jack's ship either. He stole it or as he would put it 'borrowed without asking' or something to that effect."

"He _stole _it?" William squeaked.

Will belatedly realized that William wasn't fully aware of what pirates normally did. How could he blame him? His mother was the Pirate King and a law abiding citizen—or at least she was for the most part. The principal crew of the _Black Pearl_ doted on him in their own fashion. His paternal grandfather was a pirate and by some definitions his father was too. It only made sense that in spite of William's exposure to the world of piracy, that his view of it would be somewhat skewed. Even had Elizabeth not shielded him from the seedier side of that lifestyle, he would never have had a chance to know otherwise.

"William, he's a pirate. That's part of what they do. Jack is a thief. He stole this boat from another pirate who in turn probably stole it from someone else."

"Who did he steal it from?" William sounded heartbroken.

"A pirate named Annamaria Garza."

"He stole it from a _girl_ pirate? I didn't know there were any girl pirates other than Mama," William added thoughtfully.

Will turned his head to look out over the horizon and noticed a bank of thunderheads forming in the distance. They didn't look as if they would be of much concern to them, but they still bore watching. "Your mother isn't a pirate, no more than I am, or you either for that matter. That part of our lives just happened without us choosing it. It would be a lie to say that some good didn't come of it, but for the most part, it's not a life I would wish on anyone."

William nodded solemnly, acknowledging what his father had said. "What happened to Annamaria?"

"I honestly don't know. I never saw her again after I was taken to Isla de Muerta." _Where your "Uncle" Hector tried to kill me _and _your mother_, he thought to himself.

"Does Mama know?" William asked, still trying to reconcile his image of his honorary uncles with the image his father had presented.

"Perhaps. I've never asked her. You can, but I would make sure I did it when no one was listening. I don't think that revealing that your mother is the Pirate King would go over so well in Port Royal, not to mention it would be bad for business." Will teased.

"I _know _that," William confirmed with the same tone as his father had used. He stood up and walked to the railing and looked up at the sky. "The wind is picking up. If we were going anywhere in particular we would be making good time."

Will stood up and joined his son. "Surely you didn't think that I didn't know where I was going?" he asked, looking down at William.

William looked up at his father. "You mean we're not just going to sail around the bay?"

Will shook his head. "No, we're going to make port, as it were," he said, his voice barely concealing his excitement. "We can camp on the beach. I've had too much of sleeping in a hammock in my life. I want something that doesn't move and if that means sleeping on the sand, then so be it."

______________________________________________________________________________

It was already late afternoon by the time _Le Cygne_ and its crew of two reached their destination. Although the sun was beginning to slip towards the horizon, there was still plenty of daylight left. The rains that had threatened earlier had skimmed the shoreline of the peninsula and left the bay unscathed by its fury. The storm might have gone unnoticed had it not been for the increased roughness of the water and a good stiff breeze that filled the sails. Port Royal had not been quite so fortunate. Will and William had watched the lightning, wind, and water pound the narrow spit of land, all while leaving them safe, and most importantly, dry. In its wake, the storm had thankfully left distinctly cooler temperatures –a most welcome relief from the intense August heat.

Because of its small size, _Le Cygne_ was able to maneuver quite close to the beach. Will relied on his memory of sailing aboard this very same vessel—to this very same place—along with the knowledge he had gained during his stint at sea, to gauge how shallow he could take her without fear of running aground. Without the benefit of a dock, the unusually long, narrow board that served as a gangplank in situations such as these, would still fall short of the sand, leaving the Turners with a short slog through the clear blue water.

William looked hesitantly down the plank to where it lay submerged in the shallow water and wondered exactly how he was going to manage going ashore. He was sure he had told his father about his mother's restrictions on him even touching salt water. Surely his father couldn't have forgotten. Even less likely was the possibility that Will was going to completely disregard Elizabeth's otherwise iron-clad decree. It didn't help matters that William couldn't have explained the reasoning behind his mother's unusual superstition even if he had wanted to. The few times he had dared inquire about it, she had simply responded 'because I said so' and refused to discuss it further. That in itself was an atypical answer from her. In fact, it was the only thing he could remember asking about that she _hadn't _offered him an explanation making it an anomaly among the horrors she had described in excruciating detail.

"Are you worried about the water?" Will asked, interrupting William's thoughts. His voice was reassuring with none of the sense of mockery William was accustomed to hearing when his refusal to go into the water had become an issue.

William kept his eyes fixed on the space between the sand and the plank and slowly nodded his head.

"Has your mother ever explained to you why she's afraid for you to go into the sea?" Will placed one hand protectively on William's shoulder.

"_Mama _is afraid?" William tilted his head back to look up at his father. "Mama isn't afraid of anything," he added confidently.

"Everyone is afraid of something."

"Even _you_?"

"Most especially me," Will answered with a faraway look in his eyes. "I _used_ to be afraid of the water. I used to be afraid that I would spend my life alone. Then I was afraid that I would never see your mother again, and never see you at all."

"But you don't have to worry about any of that now, do you?" William looked out at the sandy beach and wished he was there already instead of trying to scrounge up the courage to do something that he knew shouldn't give him a second thought.

"No, but there are things that still frighten me. I just can't allow them to interfere with my life," he shrugged. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I used to ask her why, but she would never answer me, so I quit asking and just did as she asked," He looked back up at Will and grinned. "I just hoped that when you came home that you would make her change the rule," he said, slyly.

"Changing one of your mother's rules? Now _that _is something that truly frightens me," Will laughed. "Actually, now that I know why she was so concerned, it did make sense at the time, but I think we're past any danger now, so yes, I suppose that means the rules have changed."

"_Danger_?" William sounded confused.

"Perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words," Will sighed heavily. He hadn't wanted to explain to William about Tia Dalma's prediction, but it was beginning to occur to him that William's questions would never cease until his curiosity was completely slaked, and who could even guess how long that could take? "When you were just a baby, Calypso gave your mother a warning about you being taken by the tides. She assumed that meant that Calypso might try to drown you and take you as her own."

William's expression changed to one of relief. "So Mama was just trying to make sure that Calypso didn't take me away? She could have told me _that_."

"She didn't tell me either… until I pressed the issue. I think your mother was afraid that I would think she was being overprotective –which she may have been—and just kept that to herself."

"But why is Mama changing her mind now?" William asked, turning around to face Will.

Will flashed a conspiratorial smile. "I didn't say she _had _changed her mind, did I?"

William shook his head, his eyes wide with surprise and more than a little fear.

"It will be fine," Will reassured him, placing a hand on each of his son's shoulders, and crouching down to eye level with the boy. "Calypso doesn't have any leverage as far as we're concerned. I fulfilled my part of the bargain. She no longer has the power to force me or your mother to do her bidding. I'm sure she knows that if she threatened you—or your mother—in any way, that I would stop at nothing to save you."

William studied his father's face for a moment before speaking. "I trust you, Papa. I know you won't let anything bad happen to me." He cast a nervous glance back at the water.

"Are you ready? We don't have to rush if you're nervous."

William nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm ready," he confirmed, stepping back from Will and taking a few halting steps towards the gangplank.

"William," Will said, just firmly enough to stop the boy in his tracks. "Take off your shoes first. It's easier to walk the plank barefoot," Will added in response to William's look of confusion.

William rolled his eyes. "What is Mama going to say when I tell her that you forced me to walk the plank?"

"You know what I meant," Will retorted. "And she would do more than make me walk the plank if I let you ruin your shoes, so, off with them."

William kicked off his shoes, the sunlight reflecting off the shiny buckles, before removing his socks and haphazardly stuffing them into each shoe. "Have you ever had to walk the plank, Papa?"

"No, but your mother has," Will answered absently, looking up and down the sandy strip of shoreline for a suitable place to build their camp.

"_What?_" William asked, startled to learn of some misadventure that his mother had neglected to share with him. "She never told me about that."

"She didn't? I would have thought she had," Will pondered aloud, preparing himself to ward off another barrage of questions. "Captain Barbossa made her do it," Will's eyes narrowed as he remembered that long ago day. "He made me watch," he added with a shudder. "He was going to do the same with Jack, but he dove into the water first."

"What happened after she fell into the water?" William's curiosity was piqued, and as always, he was ready for a good story.

"I don't know all of the details," Will fibbed, "you'll have to ask her."

William recognized from the tone of his father's voice that there would be no further enlightenment on the subject from that particular quarter. He stepped to the edge of the plank, drew a deep breath and held it for several seconds, staring down the steep incline. He exhaled explosively and gingerly took his first step—followed by another, and another—until he reached the point where the wood met the water. He looked back up the plank at his father and smiled triumphantly.

"William, be careful. I don't want you to…"

Splash!

"…slip." Will raced down the gangway, grateful for his years of experience maintaining his balance on water slicked wood. He reached the water just as William's head, his face bearing a euphoric grin, broke through the surface.

"I _did _it!" he shouted enthusiastically.

Will shook his head and began laughing at the sodden heap of clothing that was his son. "Baptizing yourself wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it will have to do under the circumstances."

William playfully scooped up a double handful of water and lobbed it towards his father, who lithely dodged the bulk of it.

"Am I going to have to challenge you to a duel?" Will quipped, taking a step backwards to avoid another liquid assault. "You wouldn't stand a chance, you know. I know every trick in the book," he leaned dangerously to one side, "courtesy of your mother," he said seriously with more than a hint of humor in his voice.

"_Mama?_" William asked skeptically. "Was it when she was a little girl? I can't imagine her playing like that now," he commented. He looked slyly at his father, remembering that his parents had been friends since childhood. "Did she try to dunk _you_ under the water?"

Will shook his head. "No, I was still afraid of the water then." He smiled at a silent memory that he had no intention of sharing. "_But_…I think you would be surprised at what your mother would do if she was given the chance—even water fights."

William looked thoughtfully at his father and tried to picture what his mother had been like before the bad times had come. Would she return to being the carefree and lighthearted woman that his father knew or would she continue to take everything so seriously? He wished with all his heart that it would be the former, but he would love her just the same if it was the latter. She was, after all, Mama, and always would be.

Until his father had mentioned it again, it had slipped William's mind that Will had ever been afraid of the water. It seemed out of character for him considering how he had spent the past dozen years or so, but when you factored in how he had come to be a resident of Port Royal, it made perfect sense. William resolved to remember all that his father had overcome in his lifetime and to use that knowledge to keeping him moving forward in times of crisis –not that there were too many crises in the life of a nine-year old, but he was sure that there were many in store for him as he grew older.

"William?" Will asked, interrupting the boy's thoughts. "Why don't you stay down at that end and I'll hand what we need over to you? That way we can unload much faster and have time for something more entertaining," he suggested.

"Yes, _sir!_" William shouted with a bit too much enthusiasm, clearly already having begun to plan his strategy for surviving, and maybe even winning, the inevitable naval engagement with his father.


	28. Long Forgotten Lullabies

The sun was only moments from setting. Both Will and William lay stretched out on the sugary white sand staring off into the horizon. Their clothes and hair were still damp from roughhousing with each other in the water, but were quickly drying in the cool breeze blowing in off the water. There was no part of their bodies nor attire that was not peppered with a fine layer of sand that tenaciously resisted removal.

"Do you think we'll see one?" William ventured. The question had come out of nowhere.

"See what?" Will replied, not following his son's train of thought.

"A green flash," he whispered reverently.

Will lay quietly for a moment, wondering exactly how many sunsets his son had watched over the years, and every single time, wishing he would see the mysterious flash of verdant light that would tell him that his father had some home. "No," he said softly, but firmly. "Only a lucky few ever see one at all." He stared off at the rapidly sinking orb in the distance. "Even fewer are rewarded with the return of a loved one." He tilted his head so that he could just barely see William out of the corner of his eye realizing that this one small boy had been born destined to be one of the precious few, "I think that we're just an ordinary family now and no longer prone to experiences like that."

"We'll _never _be just ordinary, Papa. Even just Mama and I have seen too much for that," William commented, sounding far wiser than his nine years.

_Out of the mouths' of babes. _"There's more truth to that than I think even we realize." Will rolled to one side to look at William. "We certainly never planned on things turning out the way they did, but I think it's working out quite nicely now." Will lay back on the sand with his hands behind his head.

"But it's not perfect yet," William noted, replicating his father's pose.

"No, it never will be, but we're happy…or at least _I_ am," Will teased. "Your mother doesn't seem to be complaining about me being home so I guess that just leaves you."

William wrinkled his nose much in the same way his mother did when she was amused then abruptly turned serious. "I was afraid when you came home," he confessed.

"_Afraid_?" Will was caught off guard by William's admission. "Why?" he asked softly.

"Because I didn't know if you would like me."

Will rolled to his side yet again and propped himself up on his elbow to face William. The breeze blew some loose strands of his hair into his eyes. Brushing them back with his hand, he noticed that the boy was staring intently at the sky, studiously avoiding eye contact with his father. Will was once again reminded that no matter how mature and self-assured William acted and sounded, he was still just a nine-year old boy, one that had a very justifiable reason to be insecure about his relationship with his father. He remembered very well his own childhood experience, being both excited and anxious when Bill Turner would come home. There had been times when Bill had been gone for such long stretches of time, that he and Will were practically strangers. It hadn't helped knowing that after a few short weeks home, Bill would be back out to sea again. Bill had been as much a stranger to him as he had been with William those first few weeks. It hadn't been until Will was much older that he even realized how much resentment he had built up towards his father. After all, Bill had left his family behind by choice and never returned. Will's choice had been to leave his wife behind in hopes of one day being free to return to her. He had often wondered if that choice would have been made more difficult had he known he was also leaving behind an unborn child.

"I was afraid too," Will admitted with no hint of shame in his voice. "And for the very same reason." He reached his free hand over to William's chin and turned his face so that he could see his eyes. "I knew your mother had explained to you why I was gone, why I never saw you, and the conditions of my return, but I could still never completely convince myself that you wouldn't fault me for what I did –what I _had _to do."

"I understand…_understood_. Mama told me not to worry. I know I should have never doubted her, but I couldn't help it," he lamented as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"What you _know_ to be true and how you _feel _about it aren't always one and the same thing. Everyone makes that kind of mistake sometimes. The trick is to get past it. No matter what else happens in this life, you need to remember that your mother and I will always love you. You're our first-born—just that will always make you a little more special. We would both do anything in our power to keep you from harm."

"I know, Papa," William sighed. "I'll try to remember."

"Good," Will declared with a smile.

"It's dark," William prompted.

"I noticed." Will wondered where the boy was headed with his apparent non sequitur.

"Aren't you going to teach me about the stars like you _promised_?" William's voice took on a sing-song quality meant to prod his father into action.

"I thought you knew how to navigate by the stars and all of that already. You certainly know how to sail. I was beginning to feel that I was just along to do the heavy lifting and such."

William giggled at his father's words. "I can find north, but that's it. I don't know any other constellations or anything," he confessed.

"Finding north is a good start," Will pointed out. "I would honestly have expected you to know more than that—what with you already being a seasoned sailor and all."

"No, sir. I _can _read a compass and a map. I'm not very good at it yet, but I learned how to use a sextant…and an astrolabe too, but hardly anyone uses one of those anymore so I practiced more with the sextant. Now I want to learn how to find my way if I don't have those—just in case I get lost or something like that," William told his father, sounding as innocent as possible for a boy of his age and with his sense of adventure.

"I suppose we can't have you getting lost, can we? _What _would your mother say?" Will teased.

The pair spent the next few hours oblivious to the world around them. They were so completely and totally engrossed in their educational endeavor that they lost all track of time. Will patiently taught William how to locate specific constellations and planets among the surfeit of stars scattered across the obsidian sky. In what seemed to be the space of only a few minutes, William had not only learned to measure degrees by counting the number of hand spans between Polaris and his chosen direction, but also to identify Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, and Ursa Minor, which were visible year round. The lesson was then expanded to include other constellations that were only visible during the summer months. Not surprisingly, William extracted a promise from his father to show him others as the seasons progressed.

"Papa, I'm tired," William mumbled through an inexpertly stifled yawn. He put his hands in the sand behind him to prop himself up, stretched out his legs, and stared off into the pitch black night. There was no light, save the silvery glow of the moon. Even Port Royal was too distant to detect any ambient flickers of light, not that there would have been many at this hour.

"As am I," the elder William Turner agreed. He stood up and began brushing off the sand that still clung to his clothes even though they had long since dried. "Besides, it's starting to cloud over again so we won't be able to see very many stars now." After he dusted himself off, he offered his hand to William and then helped the boy rid himself of the accumulation of grit that had collected on his clothes too. "Let's go get some sleep," Will suggested, turning towards the campfire he had built earlier that afternoon. "We need to be ready for whatever adventure comes our way tomorrow."

William made no effort to follow his father, but instead stood perfectly still, his head tilted to one side, forehead knitted in confusion and concentration, staring out into the bay. Will took only five or six steps before he realized that the boy was not following and himself turned to look out at the water. It was instantly apparent what had caught William's attention. Towards the mouth of the harbor appeared a set of flickering lights hovering above the water. Will immediately recognized them for what they were—the great lanterns from a ship—but what was a ship, a reasonably large one at that, doing sailing in under the cover of darkness? No one did that if they could avoid it. The danger of running aground or hitting something in the dark was far too great to risk such a maneuver, unless you had no other choice.

"It's just a ship," Will commented on the off chance that his son was on the verge of assigning some supernatural origin to the mysterious lights. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a precedent set for something of that nature with the Turner family and their associates.

William nodded his head and continued to stare towards the lights, watching them slowly increase in size as the ship moved further into the bay, drawing closer to their location, although not too close to think that the salt ponds were the ship's destination. "Why would they come in at night? Even _I_ know not to do _that_," William inquired, noticing as he spoke that the smaller pinpoints of light were beginning to wink out one by one.

"They obviously don't want to be seen." Will's voice was tinged with alarm. There was only one type of sailor who made a practice in approaching a town unseen—_pirates_. Unfortunately, it didn't matter that his wife was the Pirate King. He was still an unknown quantity to them. As far as any of them knew, he was still supposed to be captaining _The Flying Dutchman. _Even if they believed the part of the tale that claimed the captain of the ghost ship was allowed one day ashore every ten years, he was several weeks past that particular anniversary. Invoking Elizabeth's name might buy them a little time, but considering that pirates had a tendency to strike first and ask questions later made that plan tenuous at best.

"That's not good, is it?" William asked nervously, slowly backing up towards his father, his eyes still locked on the ship with its rapidly disappearing lights.

"No," Will responded cautiously, "I can't think of many –if any—good reasons to sail blind…especially on a night with this much cloud cover," he continued warily. _Unless you were an undead pirate who avoided the moonlight at all costs, but I don't think there are any of those left. _He placed one hand protectively on William's shoulder as soon as the boy was within reach.

"It's not the _Pearl_," William pointed out. "It's not quite big enough."

"True," his father agreed. "I would tend to think that it's some ship from this area since it apparently didn't raise an alarm at the fort, but extinguishing the lanterns makes it look a bit suspicious."

"We need to put out the fire," William urged. "That's what Mama always made us do when the Navy ships got too close to where we were."

Will couldn't decide which unnerved him more; the fact that his son knew what to do in a situation like this, or the fact that he was so calm about it. In either case, William was far more experienced than his father when it came to concealing his presence on land. A lesser man might have taken offense at being offered advice from a child, but Will had learned long ago to accept help when offered, no matter the source.

William turned from the water and ran towards the small campfire while Will backed slowly away, keeping his eyes locked on the ship. As best he could tell, between the darkness and the distance, the ship was maintaining its course and would bypass Port Royal. To further confuse matters—as if anything more was needed—Will had to assume that it had not sailed past the fort unnoticed and therefore must not have been perceived as posing any danger to the town and its citizens, but there was still the oddity of the now extinguished lanterns. He knew that he should help William with banking the fire, but he was hesitant to tear his eyes away from his mark for fear of losing it in the night.

"I'm done," whispered a small voice beside him. "Can you tell where it's headed?"

"No," Will answered indecisively "but I think Port Royal is in the clear. It hasn't altered course and should be well past it within a few minutes."

"What do we do now?"

Will noticed that William still kept his voice low, hardly above a whisper, and wondered if that too was the result of the years on the run with his mother. Could there be any other reason to explain how attuned he was to the fact that silence was imperative when trying to conceal your presence to someone on the water because sound carried so well over it? How much of his son's childhood _had _been lost because of the peculiar circumstances surrounding his parent's lives? He should have been free to run and play, to make as much noise as he wanted, to not have any cares in the world beyond deciding what to do next. Had he be able to do that at _any_ point in his young life? It distressed Will to think that of the three of them, William had paid the greatest price and yet he was the only one of them that had been given no choice in the matter.

"Watch," Will said quietly, "Wait." He paused for a moment to try and make out the dark outline of the ship against the even darker water. "I didn't mean for you to take care of the fire by yourself," he commented, turning his attention to William as the ship faded from view.

"It needed to be done and you were busy, so…" William shrugged his shoulders. "Papa, I'm really sleepy. Can you take the first watch?" he asked, stifling a yawn and looking pitiful with his eyelids half closed over his big, brown eyes.

"First _watch_?" Will mused. "I don't think we need to go that far." No matter how much he wanted to laugh at the idea, he controlled the urge to do so. William had been serious about his offer, and all things considered, it was probably the most logical defense they could have at the moment, but something uncannily familiar about the ship gnawed at the edges of his memory. However intangible that feeling might be, it had dampened his initial alarm at the possibility of a covert and night shrouded attack on his home. Will reached down to grasp William's small hand in his larger work-roughened one. "That being said, I think I will stay awake for a bit longer, but _you_ are up way past what your mother normally allows."

William yawned again and nodded. It was the first time Will could recall that the boy had not balked at being sent to bed, even if this time his bed was a blanket on the sand. "Will you sit with me while I fall asleep?" he asked his father somewhat sheepishly.

"Yes," Will assured him and smiled wistfully, remembering a time when William's mother had asked almost the exact same question. It had been their wedding night, Will's last night on land—also spent on a deserted stretch of sand—the same night he and Elizabeth had created the child standing before him now.

William collected his blankets, one to lie on and one to use as covering, as Will settled himself against the trunk of one of the palm trees that covered the area, sometimes creeping perilously close to the shoreline. William meticulously spread one blanket over the ground and then lay down with his head in his father's lap.

"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho," Will sang softly as William giggled.

"We kidnap, and ravage, and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho," he continued trying to quell his own giggles.

"You don't sound like Mama when you sing," William gasped between giggles.

"I should hope not," Will said, opening his eyes in feigned shock at William's comment.

"Uncle Captain Jack told me that you have a lovely singing voice, and that it's sometimes hard to tell your voice and Mama's apart when you sing a duet," William explained innocently.

"Is that so?" Will replied in a clipped voice as he considered adding one more tick mark to the list of things that Jack did that annoyed him.

"Yes, sir," William stretched and yawned. "He said you were a…a…I can't remember the word."

"I'm sure I know which word he used, but don't worry about it. It's his idea of a joke and it's not true," Will explained, grateful that William hadn't remembered exactly what Jack had said.

"EUNUCH! That's it, he said you were a eunuch and that was why you sing like Mama. I knew I would remember. I'm good at remembering things!"

Will stiffened for a second, annoyed at Jack's prank. He definitely was going to add to the list now. "Except when your mother asks you to do something," Will said simultaneously serious and teasing.

William tilted his head back to look at his father and smiled innocently at him with his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. "I don't exactly _forget_ that," he slyly admitted. "What's a eunuch anyway?"

"Ummm," Will stalled. _I knew that was coming. _"It's…umm…when…umm…let's say I'm not one and leave it at that," he suggested.

William sighed heavily. "Is it one of _those _things again? And are you _sure _you're not one? Uncle Captain Jack sounded pretty certain of it when he told me."

"Was your mother around when he told you this?" Will asked in an attempt to redirect William's questions.

"No, but he said to not tell her because she would be mad if she found out that you were one," he said in all innocence.

_That would be an understatement. _ "You'll just have to trust me on this one. I am absolutely, positively, sure that I am _not _a eunuch. Besides, if I was then you wouldn't exist and then we wouldn't be having this conversation now would we?" Will said in a rush. "And I'm sure your mother would have noticed."

William narrowed his eyes at his father as he contemplated that particular morsel of information. "OH!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes. "Does it have something to do with…"

"Probably." Will interjected, cutting off William's next question. "Now didn't you say you were sleepy?" Will said sternly enough to decisively end William's line of questioning.

"You still don't sing as well as Mama," William reiterated, not allowing his father's unspoken request to change the subject to dampen his playful mood.

"I certainly never intended to imply that I did," Will challenged indignantly.

"I love you, Papa. I like having you home," William mumbled through a yawn.

Will leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. "I love you too, William. Don't ever doubt that. Don't ever forget that," he managed to choke out as he stroked his son's head until he was sure the boy was fast asleep.

______________________________________________________________________________

_I left my baby lying here,  
Lying here, lying here  
I left my baby lying here  
To go and gather blaeberries. _

_I found the wee brown otter's track  
Otter's track, otter's track  
I found the wee brown otter's track  
But ne'er a trace o' my baby, O! _

The sound of his mother singing quietly to herself was an unequivocal sign that the sun would soon rise. It was also a definitive warning that he would be rousted from his pallet in a matter of minutes to begin the day's chores. It did not matter how much begging and pleading his did with his mother to allow him to sleep for just a few more minutes, she was, and probably always would be, immune to his pleas. In the meantime, however, he would wriggle as close to the hearth as was safe, cocoon himself in his one thin blanket, and try his best to snatch a few more winks soothed by a lullaby sung in his mother's distinctive brogue.

"William," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder lightly, "I need you to wake up now."

" 's too early," he mumbled incoherently, buried himself deeper in the blankets, and ignored his mother's request.

"Some things never change no matter how much time passes," she thought to herself, as she wandered away, allowing her son to slumber a few more minutes before it became imperative that he wake up. Once more, she began to sing quietly to herself.

_I found the track of the swan on the lake  
Swan on the lake, swan on the lake  
I found the track of the swan on the lake  
But not the track of baby, O! _

_I found the trail of the mountain mist  
Mountain mist, mountain mist  
I found the trail of the mountain mist  
But ne'er a trace of baby, O! _

Will couldn't remember where he was when he first opened his eyes. All he was sure of was the nearly overwhelming sense of sadness that had washed over him as he slept and still remained now that he was awake. In the dream, he had been ten again, probably not long before his mother had taken sick. The sound of his mother singing, as she had every morning, was crystal clear in his mind. That memory comforted him, along with the unexpectedly remembered words to the traditional Scottish song she had so often sang to lull him to sleep when he was a small child. The reason as to why she had appeared in his dreams tonight had thus far escaped him. From the day she had died on, he had seldom ever dreamed of his mother. He had always assumed that was because his memories associated with her passing, along with the trauma of realizing— at the tender age of eleven— that he was suddenly left to his own defenses, had been too painful, and as a result he had banned them from his consciousness.

_Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O,  
Gorry og, O, Gorry og O  
Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O  
I've lost my darling baby, O!_

The nearly forgotten lullaby _wasn't_ an artifact of his dream. Or was it? He had heard his mother's voice in the dream, just as he heard her now. But that wasn't possible, was it? Will sat up, brushed the sand from his hands, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He peered out into the moonlit night, searching for the source of the doleful melody. Seeing nothing, and remembering his mother's tales of children being spirited away in the night, he felt compelled to check on the welfare of his own child.

William lay curled up in a fetal position, his arms crossed over his chest, not more than three feet from where Will had been sleeping. Will sat for a moment, watching his son sleep, remembering Elizabeth's words of having quite frequently done the same, and finally comprehending the force behind a parent's overwhelming need to guard their children, even when there is no sign of danger. Despite the mysterious ship that they had spotted earlier in the evening and the faint, but distinct sound of singing from a woman long deceased, Will now felt completely at ease. His instincts, finely tuned to all things supernatural and not, told him that something was about to happen, but that it most likely posed no threat to himself or William.

Will stood up and turned to face the water. The sky had cleared considerably and was now awash with the pale luminescence of a three quarter moon. He walked slowly towards the irregular, yet repetitive sonance of the sea gently bathing the shore. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the insignificant light away from the dying embers of the campfire, he became aware of a solitary figure of a woman facing away from him at the water's edge. Even considering the distance, the relative darkness of the night, and the impossibility of her being there, Will recognized his mother immediately. There was no need for her to turn around for Will to identify her.

An abrupt chill filled his being, predominantly from shock and not fear. Why would Meg Turner appear to him now? They had said their bittersweet farewells to each other less than three months earlier. At the time, Meg had implied that although she would always watch over her only son and his family, Will would not see her again until it was his time to cross to the other side and remain there permanently. And yet, here she was, on the island that Will thought of as home, singing a long-forgotten melody, and patiently waiting, but for _what_? Had he unwittingly violated some condition of his return and would now be forced to leave his family for good? Will struggled to tamp down the unabated uneasiness and trepidation that came unexpectedly out of nowhere and fought to consume him.

Meg turned slowly from the sea, smiling softly at Will as she did so, but not missing a single note of her song. She held her arms out in front of her, just as she had when Will was young, in a gesture that suggested and encouraged him to continue his approach. Will noted that in spite of the light breeze, neither her clothes nor her hair moved in its wake.

"William," she said softly, the unmistakable tone of pride in her son, filling her voice.

"Mother?" Will's voice broke slightly as he spoke, the uncertainty of the purpose behind her presence growing with each passing second.

Meg nodded. "There's no need to be afraid," she assured him, placing one cool hand on each of his cheeks and staring at his face. "I'm not here to take you back," she added in response to the unasked question plainly visible in his eyes.

"Then why…?" he stammered before breaking away from her and wheeling around to look for William.

"William," she said sharply, "your son, William," Meg's eyes twinkled with amusement at the idea of scolding her adult son, "is safe too. I'm here for another duty entirely," she continued with less force in her voice.

Will turned back to his mother and stared at her expecting himself to wake up from the dream or for her to disappear entirely. "Are you really here?" _It's not possible._

"Yes," she laughed lightly, wrapping him in a hug, "but only for a little while."

Will stepped back from his mother and took both of her hands in his. "I want you to meet your grandson," he blurted out excitedly, pulling her in the direction of where William still lay sound asleep.

Meg closed her eyes as the smile faded from her face. "I'm afraid that's not possible. He won't wake up while we're here, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to see me." Meg reopened her eyes and looked over to her only living grandchild, the smile reappearing on her face. "He looks much like you did at that age."

"Does he?" Will questioned. "Everyone says that he looks like me, but when I look at him, all I can see is his mother," he added reverently.

"As it should be." Meg took Will's hand and led him to some nearby boulders. "You must love her, Elizabeth, very much," she said as she gracefully took a seat facing Will, who remained standing.

"Yes, I do. I think I always have," he confirmed, wondering where this conversation was leading. Meg had already made it clear that she was there for a specific purpose. The desire to visit with her son was nowhere near powerful enough to allow her to cross back to this side, even for a short while. As best Will had understood it, the only souls that did not make the crossing or wavered between the two sides, were those that had unresolved business, an over developed sense of personal justice to be meted out, or simply did not understand that they were no longer living. Meg did not fit any of those categories by any stretch of the imagination. Truthfully, Will had often wondered why Meg had not moved on to the place that lay beyond the island where the souls in his care had disembarked and continued on their journey to their greater reward—or punishment as the case may be. He had been tempted to ask on more than one occasion, but feared that an inquiry of that nature would have been too personal to ask even of your own mother.

"She's quite a remarkable woman."

Will noticed that what Meg had given her compliment as if it had been a simple statement of fact. He smiled brightly at his mother. "Yes, she is. More than anyone could ever understand."

"Even you."

"Pardon?" Will exclaimed, taken aback by his mother's words.

Meg smiled up at him and put her right hand on his cheek, and caressed it with her thumb, just as she had always done when he was a child and she wanted to ensure that she had his complete, undivided attention. "I don't think even you quite grasp the magnitude of what she accomplished. Life is uncertain enough without having to risk so much of yourself for an outcome that may not have even been possible."

Will covered his mother's small hand with his own and waited patiently for her to finish what she obviously had some imperative need to say. The look in her eyes told him that her speech had some degree of personal significance to her beyond simply expressing her approval of her son's choice of his wife.

"I know what it's like to raise a child with an absentee father," she stated with no sign of any emotion, positive or negative.

Will winced and closed his eyes as if in discomfort. He had never intended to follow in his father's footsteps in that regard, and yet it was exactly what he had done. _Is this real? It may very well be possible, but it's certainly not probable._

"William, please don't compare yourself to your father in that respect," she clarified, realizing that her words had unintentionally caused him grief. "My anger and hurt over what Bill did has long since passed. It is what it is. When he would leave to go pirating, I never knew if he would come back or not. In that respect, Elizabeth and I are very much alike, except that I _expected_ Bill to turn up from time to time. Had I not…fallen ill," Meg hesitated, avoiding the topic of how her time had ended. She pulled her hand away from Will's face and rested it in her lap. "That expectation would have still been there. Elizabeth only had hope and faith that you _could _return."

"Is this why you're here?" Will sighed and opened his eyes, the look of hurt beginning to fade. "To tell me that I don't appreciate Elizabeth as much as I should?"

"No, but since I was given this chance…"

"How is it that you are here? Why can I interact with you, but William can't?" Will used the questions to distract himself from the thought that he was possibly failing Elizabeth in some unknown way, shape or form. Despite the intent, he was still truly curious about the discrepancy. _I gave my life for her and she gave it back. It's not even possible for me to forget that._

"It's because you're one of us or rather you _were_ one of us—one of the dead. I think you'll always be able to _see _things that others can't, although I don't know that for certain. You're somewhat of a special case in that respect," she pointed out proudly.

Will started, having been momentarily lost in his own thoughts. "I see, or at least, I _think_ I do. But why didn't you tell me this—what Elizabeth needs from me— before I left you that last night I was… on the other side?" Will was at a loss for any explanation Meg could have possibly had for not telling him that he might still be haunted by those souls he had encountered during his tenure as captain of the _Dutchman_ or shared her concerns about his return. _It's just a dream. I know it is. I can't let it bother me. _

Meg studied Will's face as she weighed her answer. "Because I didn't have the same faith in her that you did," she said flatly. "I incorrectly assumed that you would be back before the day was out. I'm elated that I was mistaken, but what reason did I have to think otherwise? No one has ever accomplished what you two did. I was afraid to be too hasty with my compliments. I didn't—and won't ever— truly know her. I wouldn't have been strong enough to endure the hardships she did. And although it pains me to admit it, if I was honest with myself, I would have to admit that I didn't know you either. I left behind a child with an uncertain future. I had to take it on faith that your…_experiences_ had not clouded your convictions."

"But you had enough faith to send the pendant…and the brooch," Will was confused by the apparent discrepancy in his mother's story.

Meg gave him a lop-sided smile, the same one he had inherited from her. "I suppose that was my way of covering all contingencies," she said guiltily. "I'm your mother. It always has been, and always will be, my job to worry about you."

Will halfway laughed, "I'm most certainly old enough and capable enough to take care of myself." He redirected his gaze to the boy sleeping by the fire, "And my family," he added resolutely.

"You are. I have no doubt about that. You just need to remember that, no matter the circumstances, your wife will stop at nothing to protect your children, even when it could conceivably put her in danger," Meg continued in her obviously well thought out disquisition. "It's not an easy thing to bring a child into this world—_your_ world. The prospect of losing one is the most horrendous thing a mother could imagine. In that respect, being a parent can cause unbearable pain."

"Why are you telling me this?" Will sounded alarmed. He looked intently at his mother again. His mind was racing in a dozen different directions trying to unravel his mother's intentions behind her advice.

"She needs you."

"She knows she can turn to me when she does," Will said defensively. The fear that Meg was on the verge of revealing some new trial his family must face was beginning to cause concern. _ A bad dream, nothing more. _

Meg didn't react to Will's slightly belligerent answer. "Yes, she does. She's even aware that even just that one thing sets her apart from other women, but for you to be who and what she needs right now, you're going to have to face your own frailties."

"I don't understand."

Meg smiled sadly as she peered past Will to the stretch of beach at his back. "Perhaps you're not aware of it, but you do understand."

Will turned slowly to see what his mother was looking at and immediately understood her words. The figure of a small boy, playing in the waves that lapped at the sand, was clearly visible not more than a hundred yards from them. Even at a distance in the dark, Will knew the boy's identity.

"You recognize him, don't you?" Meg asked solemnly.

"Yes," Will whispered. "Is he why you're here?"

"Yes." Meg's voice softened as if in preparation to console a child who was about to have their world shattered.

"I still don't understand," Will continued, shaking his head slowly. "How does this relate to Elizabeth or my _frailties _as you called them?" A sense of dread flowed over Will in anticipation of Meg's explanation. _I'm not perfect, I know that._

"He was her child too." Meg kept her voice steady as she gently began to push Will down the path to facing his own fears.

"Is," Will mumbled, taking one uncertain step towards the boy, who still had not acknowledged the presence of anyone else on the beach. "He _is _our son, not was." Will spoke to no one in particular as he kept his back to his mother.

"How old was he?"

Will turned back to Meg, a look of incomprehension on his face. "He's five. He just turned five at the beginning of June."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I was there, just after he was born. We were so happy, we had passed the halfway mark and we had another son. Having William was nothing short of a miracle. There are no words to describe how we felt at the prospect of another child. I…we…wanted him so much." Will was beginning to show the agitation that he thus far had held in check.

"Why were you there, William? When he was born," Meg continued as calm as always. "You weren't there when your first son was born, it wasn't possible for you, what made this one different?"

Will turned his face away from his mother and did not answer her.

Meg took a step closer to him, put her left hand on his chin and turned his face back towards her. "Why were you there?" she asked again, more strongly this time.

"Because I knew about Jonathan. I knew when he would be born," Will answered without conviction.

"You knew when he _should_ have been born. Even I knew that. It was simply a matter of counting the weeks from the hurricane that cost Elizabeth so much of her crew. You broke the rules to be with her then," Meg gently reminded him.

"More like bent them," he insisted, sounding like a child trying to talk his way out of trouble.

"But he came too early, didn't he? And you _weren't _there until shortly _after_ he was born," Meg hesitated for a moment, fearing she had pushed him too far. "I'm right, am I not?"

Will closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them that he would discover that the dream – a not entirely good one at that—would be gone, but when he opened them again, Meg was still there, and still as insistent on an answer. "He…," Will stopped to try and find the words he did not want to say. "I…I came to take him back with me." _Wake up, Will. This is still too painful to relive._

"Because he died."

"But I've watched him grow up," Will insisted, realizing as he spoke how foolish his claim sounded. "How is it possible? Have I just been seeing ghosts all this time?" He was exasperated with the incessant questions and lack of answers.

"No, he's not a ghost. For that matter, neither am I really. Ghosts are unsettled souls, those that haven't accepted that they've passed on." Meg sensed Will's frustration, but did not give up her goal. Telling Will what to do would yield few, if any, results. He had to come to his own conclusions in this matter. Meg was well aware that what she was doing now was pushing the limit of what she could do, but for the sake of her son and in turn, his son, she was willing to take the risk.

"Then what _are _you?" Will asked, regretting the disrespectful undertone of his voice.

"That's difficult to explain," Meg sighed resignedly before continuing, "but I _will _try."

Will studied his mother's face. It was evident that no matter how frustrated he was at the moment, he was not alone in that matter. Meg was feeling something quite similar. He could see the pain of loss reflected in her eyes—something he was far too familiar with—along with a sadness that had not been there when last he had seen her.

"Do you understand why some of the souls you ferried moved on to what lies beyond, and some of them remained near the place they disembarked?"

Will nodded slowly. "Yes, some of them remained to wait for those they cared about, and some of them felt the need to atone for actions during their lives," he answered casually, knowing that Meg was leading him somewhere with this discussion.

"And the others?" Meg pressed.

Will stared out at the water for a few moments, briefly wondering which category his mother fell in to. Had she been waiting for him or Bootstrap? Was there something she regretted so much that it prevented her from moving on? Or was she one of the _others_ she had just mentioned. The ones that she knew were a mystery to him. "I don't know. It made no sense to me why there were some souls who didn't continue their journey and no one ever offered an explanation." He shrugged in an effort to act like the answer didn't really matter to him. "I was so focused on fulfilling my obligation that it never occurred to me to ask." _And sometimes it was better to just not know._

"Those are the ones that are being held back because someone that cared very deeply for them during their lifetime has yet to let them go. They're stranded in a limbo of sorts until the one holding them back comes to terms with their loss…or dies." Meg watched Will carefully, looking for any signs that he was beginning to understand where she was headed.

"Is that why I can still see you? Talk to you? Am I holding you back?" The idea that Will was causing his mother grief was almost more than he could fathom. _This is just the result of a guilty conscience. Wake up, Will._

"No," Meg smiled weakly. "Not me. I had…_have_ my own reasons for waiting." Meg inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly in preparation for what she was going to say next. "At first, I didn't move on because of you. You were my only child and you were still so young. I was prepared to wait as long as I needed to learn your fate. I never expected your destiny to be what it was."

"But you know now. I'm happy. I have my own family. Why…" Will cut off his own question, recognizing that his mother may now have other motives for waiting. He had a vague memory of her telling that last night before he came home that her wait was not yet over. He lowered his head, feeling like an awkward little boy who had just realized he was being unintentionally disrespectful.

Meg put her fingers gently on his chin and raised his face to look at her. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked at him with amusement. "It's a normal reaction for you to ask." Her expression grew more pensive. "I was angry with your father for many years. I learned what had happened to him and believed that it was his just desserts. Even when he came in that first time on the _Dutchman_, I was still bitter. Remember that he didn't tell me you were the new Captain, just that Davy Jones had been deposed and that the ship had been returned to its original purpose. Eventually he did confess that he was no longer obligated to his one hundred years, but remained aboard to fulfill a debt. Like you not asking why there were souls that didn't cross over, it never crossed my mind to ask him what that debt was. I know now that he was watching over you and intended all along to take your place when your ten years were up. He couldn't bear to see you denied what he willingly gave up. It allowed me to see your father in a different light, so now I find myself content to wait for him."

"Will it be ten years with him like it was for me?" Will wondered aloud.

"Perhaps. All that is required now is the willingness to be the captain. There is no more predetermined tour of duty so to speak. He can leave anytime he wants—provided there is a willing replacement—but I think he will do at least ten," Meg tilted her head to one side and pondered her son's bewildered stare. "Out of respect to you."

"But…" Will started to say before his mother cut him off.

"No, no more discussion of that. It still makes me sad to think of what you lost."

"So you have no regrets now?" Will teased.

"I didn't say that," Meg responded curtly, startling Will. "I have one," she added slowly. "I owe someone an apology for the way I treated them," she said without emotion.

"Who?" Will tried to think of someone his mother may have mistreated, but no one came to mind.

"Your sister," she ventured tentatively.

"_Rebecka_? But she left us. How could you owe her an apology?" _Did she leave because of me?_

"William," Meg scolded playfully. "You only have _one_ sister and it's entirely my fault that she went away."

"And how is that?" Will was more confused than before.

"I wasn't much of a stepmother to her. We had a hard life and I resented raising a child that wasn't my own. I begrudged her mother's family for saddling Bill with a child that might not even have been his, and blamed them for your father being what he was. I had so much rancor built up towards Bill and his actions that in his absence, I redirected my anger to Rebecka." Whatever the circumstances had been, Meg had long since come to grips with her shortcomings and regretted how she had treated the girl.

"_You're_ the reason she left?" Will pressed, noting what his mother had implied about Rebecka's parentage. _Is she not really my sister?_

Meg nodded shakily. "Yes, it was my fault and I can accept that. To some degree, I'm sure I've always known that. I think that's why I never spoke of her again nor allowed Bill—on those rare occasions that he was around—to speak of her either," Meg sighed. "I felt less guilty that way. I never considered what impact that might have on you."

"I didn't remember her until Elizabeth mentioned her. That's where she lived while I was –away," he said hesitantly.

"You can choose to see that as an unlikely coincidence or, like me, you can choose to see it as more proof that our destinies—Turners and Teagues—have always been linked," she shrugged noncommittally. "By the time she left, I had no doubt that Rebecka was Bill's daughter and in turn, your sister, but I was too caught up in my own tribulations to deal with her."

"And so you just let her leave?" Will was having difficulty reconciling the kind and loving mother he had known with the woman who had essentially neglected her stepdaughter.

"I don't know how much '_let'_ there was to her departure. Bill always claimed that she took after her mother more so than him and was headstrong to a fault. Looking back, I'm sure she would have taken off on her own at some point anyway, just not quite so young perhaps," Meg clarified in her own defense.

"And her mother? Who was she?" Will inquired. _Why does the name Teague sound so familiar? _

"William! Look what you've done, just like when you were a little boy. You've gone and made me forget why I wanted to talk to you in the first place," Meg exclaimed, hoping that Will would not ask anything else about Rebecka's mother or her family. Who Rebecka's mother was and what had happened to her were both topics of discussion that she did _not _want to broach, nor was it her place to do so. Bill could quite easily have explained to his youngest child about his first wife—if wife she had been—and that would have been the end of it, but he hadn't. Instead he had tried to pretend that that period of his life had never existed. He might very well have gotten away with it, had it not been for the fact that Rebecka had made it perfectly clear that Meg was not _her _mother. Meg could still recall trying to explain to not yet four-year-old Will how he could have only half of a sister. She remembered being amused by his insatiable curiosity and incessant childish questions. Had she only known then what would happen in the coming months, perhaps she would have answered differently, perhaps she would have been more tolerant of Rebecka and her strong willed personality, and perhaps the fate of her family would have turned out differently, but it was too late to change it now and therefore pointless to dwell on that part.

"That wasn't my intention," Will said apologetically, interrupting Meg's thoughts and startling her. _I must have known all of this already, but I've long since forgotten. _

"No, of course not, I know that," she replied. "Besides, I'm not here to atone for my past mistakes."

"Then why _are_ you here?" Will ventured apprehensively. _And what prompted this dream tonight?_

Meg frowned at Will and nodded her head towards the small boy still playing quite happily in the surf. "I told you. Because of him."

"But why Jonathan? He couldn't possibly have any reason to make amends. He…"

"Died at birth. I know. But he can't move on until you let him go," Meg spoke softly, hoping that her words wouldn't be quite as strong a blow as they inevitably would be.

"Me?" Will was shocked and bewildered. "He can't leave because of _me_?"

"William Turner! Did I stutter?" Meg scolded, but with little force. "Because of you," she said without emotion. "You're the one who has held him back."

"But Elizabeth…" he stammered.

"Not Elizabeth. _You_," she said with a touch more pressure. "She won't ever forget him because he'll always live in her heart, but even though she's accepted that he's gone, there is still a tremendous amount of grief there. That's why she needs you. That's why you have to let him go." Meg held Will's face, staring him straight in the eyes, thwarting any attempt he made to look away. "You can't help her put that guilt to rest until you've dealt with your own grief," she said sternly.

"Don't you think I'm aware that he's not a tangible part of our lives? _I _am the one who had to ferry him to the other side," Will snapped. _Please, no. It still hurts too much to think about it. _

Meg ignored Will's outburst, having anticipated such a reaction. "But you didn't take him ashore did you? Your father had to do it because _you_ couldn't. I can empathize with you on that decision. From your perspective, he must have seemed like any other infant; but he wasn't. He never drew a single breath among the living."

Will pulled back from his mother and turned to watch the little boy—his _son_—chasing the waves.

"William?" Meg called softly. "Look at me." She noticed the slight tremble of his shoulders as he turned back to her. She knew that was a sure sign that he was becoming frustrated with himself. It was one of those little quirks that only a mother—or perhaps a wife—would notice. "You ferried him to the land of the dead, as you should have, but because you couldn't let him go, he couldn't finish his crossing."

"How can you be so sure? Why do you think it's my fault?" Will's voice broke with a combination of fear, sadness and anger. "Elizabeth blamed herself even though what happened was an accident. There was nothing I could do."

"It's no one's fault!" Meg stretched up and hugged her son. She was disheartened by the fact that he didn't return the embrace. "It would be impossible for me to explain everything to you, mostly because there's so much I don't know, but I will share what I know—if you'll allow me? Maybe then you can see how you haven't finished grieving yet either."

Will slowly pulled his arms up to wrap them around the waist of the only woman he had ever cared about other than Elizabeth. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you," he mumbled like a penitent child.

Meg inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly. "Do you remember what I looked like before I died?" It was such an odd thing to say and yet she had done so as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Of course," Will's brows knitted in confusion. "Almost exactly as you do now," he hesitated for a moment. "I think I even remember your dress."

"Yes, that's right," Meg stepped back from Will and smiled sadly before continuing. "Now I want you to think about your father. After you freed him from his oath to Davy Jones, what did he look like? Was it the same as you remembered the last time you saw him alive?"

Will shook his head slowly. "No, he looked older than I remembered, but I didn't think anything of it."

"I look the same to you because you understood that I had died and could not come back. For you, I will be this age for all eternity. Mind you, I'm _not _complaining!" she said playfully.

"Does…did… Bootstrap—I mean father—look older because I believed he was alive for so many years after he left?"

The light of comprehension was beginning to shine from Will's eyes. Meg nodded in acknowledgement of his deduction.

"Had I not believed I had killed him when I returned his coin to the chest would he have continued to age for me?" Will asked, in an effort to confirm his suspicions.

"Something rather like that." Meg fought back the tears and sadness that threatened to take control of her emotions, knowing that as soon as _her _son understood what remained to be done for _his_ son that she would have to return to the land of the dead. It didn't matter how hard she tried to reconcile the sorrow of having to leave Will behind once again with repaying the debt she still felt she owed her stepdaughter for the seemingly callous indifference she had shown for the girl's well being. Even if Meg was able to rectify her mistakes it would not take any of the sting out their parting. In her heart, Will was still an eleven-year old orphan and not a grown man with a wife, a son, and as yet unknown to him, another child on the way.

"That's how you know I'm the one holding Jonathan back? Because I see him as he might have been had he lived?" There was a touch of horror in Will's voice over the idea that something that should have been so obvious had gone unnoticed by him.

"Yes," Meg choked out, still trying to hold back tears. "Have you ever talked to Elizabeth about what it was like to transport your own flesh and blood to the land of the dead? Have you told her that for you, he was still very much alive, but only as long as you never crossed back to the land of the living with him? _You _have a part of that child that she will never be able to experience."

"How could I have told her? We had so little time together that I couldn't bring myself to open old wounds, so I let them heal on their own."

"That's not how it works, William. Those kinds of wounds never heal completely. You need to share with her. _Talk_ to her. She needs to understand how difficult it was for you, just as you need to understand how difficult it still is for her. I've lost a child. I know firsthand the grief that never quite goes away. I remember all too well blaming myself and wondering if I should have done something differently." The long buried hurt began to unexpectedly surface. Meg closed her eyes and took a couple of calming breaths before she spoke again. "She depends on you, but until you allow Jonathan to move on, you can't be what or who she needs."

"I depend on her too." Even as the words were coming from his mouth, Will knew that it wasn't necessary to point out that detail to his mother. She evidently knew far more about his life and where he was headed than he could possibly even guess.

Meg kept her eyes closed as she listened intently to Will's answer. She opened her eyes and stared directly into eyes the same color as her own. "Yes, you do. It's how the two of you were able to make this work, but do you trust her enough to allow Jonathan to go? Can you rely on her enough to help you through losing him again, even if you knew that she might need to rely on you right now?" She spoke with the assurance of someone who already knew the answer to their question.

"Yes," he answered without the slightest hesitation, keeping his eyes locked with his mother's.

"Then go to him now," Meg said softly, nodding her head towards the spot where Jonathan was still playing, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. "Give him your permission to move on." She stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Will acknowledged what his mother had said with a quick bob of his head, then wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "You're going now, aren't you?"

"Yes," Meg confirmed, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke into her son's chest.

"Will I see you again?"

Meg did not miss that he suddenly sounded so much younger than he actually was. "I don't know." Her voice hinted at the tears that were sure to come. "That's not something within my power to know." She lifted her head from Will's chest. "I suppose it's possible. For at least as long as I wait for your father I would think." Meg took a step backwards, breaking away from her son's embrace.

Will nodded slightly, acknowledging her words.

Meg put one hand on each of Will's cheeks and smiled sadly at him. "I would hope that by returning to your place among the living that you wouldn't be quite so eager to visit with the dead."

"But you're my mother. I love you." He gave her an almost embarrassed smile. "I still miss you. That won't ever change."

Meg moved her right hand to rest lightly over Will's heart. "I love you more than anything and I will always be right there," she said patting his chest. "Even if you have given it to someone else." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You chose wisely. I would be proud of you for that if for nothing else."

"I wish that you could have known her." He leaned forward and kissed Meg's forehead. "And William too, of course."

"In a way, I think I do. I watch over them just as I watch over you. They may never know me, but I _will _know of my grandchildren." Meg started backing away from Will, becoming less substantial with each step. "Let him go," came her last whispered words as she faded from view.

Will stood for a moment, oddly disconcerted, staring at the spot where his mother had vanished. Had this been how Elizabeth had felt each time he had returned to his duty after an all too brief encounter with her? Was that why she had nearly always kept her eyes tightly closed after he kissed her goodbye and sometimes had gone as far as turning away from him? She had never made mention of the habit, much less discussed it, but had she done so for no reason other than to avoid seeing the proof of what he really was – a transient soul caught between two worlds and not the living, breathing man they had been able to pretend he was for just a few hours?

The sound of high-pitched laughter nearby broke him from his momentary trance. He turned towards the water, knowing what and who he would see there.

"PAPA!" The boy shouted upon spotting his father. He began running towards Will as fast as his five year old legs possibly could over the wet sand.

Will crouched down and scooped the boy into his arms as soon as he was close enough. "Jonathan," he murmured contentedly, hugging his son tightly, and noticing for the first time how fragile he seemed. William, in contrast, always gave the impression of being quite sturdy when Will held him, in spite of the fact that he was a tad undersized for his age.

Jonathan snuggled his face into the curve of his father's neck. "Did you miss me, Papa?" The boy asked playfully, sure of the answer he would receive.

"Of course I do. Your mother does too," Will answered, thinking how much more Jonathan's features reminded him of Elizabeth than William's did.

"I know. I miss her too. I know she won't forget me when I go away again," he added matter of factly. "She'll love me just the same even when I'm not the baby anymore." Jonathan lifted his head and looked at Will. "You will too."

Will tweaked Jonathan's nose, causing a round of giggles. "You'll always be our baby." A lump formed in Will's throat at the thought that would be the last time he would be able to hold Jonathan. He would always remember him—as would Elizabeth—but by morning all he would have left are the images of what might have been. _But it's still more than Elizabeth ever had._

"No, not the baby. I'll be a big brother, even if I'm not there," Jonathan corrected his father, his voice quite serious and solemn.

"Will you now?" Will laughed. _Does he really know that or is this too part of my imagination? _

"Mmm hmm," Jonathan murmured as he fumbled for some childish treasure in his coat pocket. His eyes lit up the second his fingers came in contact with his prize. "This is for Mama," he announced, brandishing an unidentified object in his chubby fingers.

"And what would this be?" Will asked, shifting Jonathan's weight to one arm while reaching for the mysterious gift. _Is he intentionally giving me something for Elizabeth so that I will _have_ to tell her what I did? That I kept his soul from moving on? _

"It's a heart. Can't you tell?" Jonathan sounded exasperated as only a small child can, and flashed the contents of his hand before Will's eyes. "I want Mama to know that I love her too since I can't tell her."

"She knows that," Will said, somewhat distracted as he allowed Jonathan to place the piece in his hand. It appeared to be a fragment of some seashell, shattered long ago, and now polished smooth by the water and sand so that it did vaguely resemble an open work heart, albeit a somewhat lopsided one.

"Please, Papa? I want her to have it," the boy pleaded.

"I'll give it to her, I promise," Will reassured him. _He's about to leave. I can feel it. _

"I don't want to go, Papa." Jonathan leaned his forehead against his father's.

"I don't want you to go either, but you have to. What I did—keeping you near me—was wrong, and now I have to fix that." Will slowly became cognizant of the fact that Jonathan wasn't warm to the touch like William. How could he be? He had never actually lived. The body that his soul occupied was nothing more than a construct of Will's imagination, unwittingly created as a compromise for the fact that Elizabeth had William in her care and Will had nothing. He reminded himself that it had been his and Elizabeth's choice, one that had been made together after much consideration, to not subject William to the trauma of only seeing his father once a year if they were lucky, for only a few minutes at that, before having to say goodbye again, while not yet having gotten over being virtual strangers to each other. But now he that he was reunited with his wife and eldest son, the need to hold Jonathan's memory foremost in his heart was no longer required.

"Don't be sad, Papa. I didn't mind." He planted a sloppy kiss on his father's cheek. "But I have to go now."

Will put one hand on the back of Jonathan's head and pulled him into his shoulder for one last embrace before crouching down to set the little boy gently on the sand. He reluctantly released him from his grasp in preparation for the inevitable parting. For one of the few times in his life, Will found himself without any words to say. How does one bid farewell to a boy who never was? Who hadn't existed outside of a world that Will created for himself?

Jonathan put one small hand on each of his father's cheeks and stared into his eyes. "Please don't watch me go. Keep your eyes closed until I'm gone. Will you do that, Papa?"

Will nodded his head and closed his eyes. He felt Jonathan move his hands from where they held his father's face to instead clutching his hands. The incongruity of being consoled by his child was not lost on Will. There was no doubt in his mind that he would always remember the feel of those tiny hands wrapped around his own. He remained in a crouched position, with his eyes squeezed shut as the pressure on his hands gradually faded away. He strained to hear any possible last words from Jonathan. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard the faint whisper of one last goodbye floating on the night breeze. True or not, he would choose to believe he had.

Will cracked open one eye to the blinding light of an early morning sun, and quickly closed it again. For one brief instant, he experienced a sense of déjà vu of waking up on the sand and not remembering where he was. The sound of William's voice, filled with excitement, wishing him good morning, immediately put things back into perspective for him. Will reopened his eyes, pushed himself upright and blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light. Had it not been for William, he would have cheerfully have lain down again and gone right back to sleep. While that was something out of character for him, he normally didn't have dreams that exhausted him quite so much. _I would much rather be physically exhausted than mentally exhausted any day._ He stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes as he took notice of what William was doing.

"Why are you packing up already?" Will asked with amusement in his voice. "I thought you wanted to stretch this adventure out as long as you could?" He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side, watching the frenzy of activity that was his son.

"I do…I did…I want to go home," William answered plaintively, ceasing his packing efforts just long enough to study his father's reaction before returning to his task.

A thin sliver of panic embedded itself in Will's heart. Was William ill? Had he done something to offend him or worse—frighten him? He crossed the narrow swath of sand that separated him from where William worked. It took all of his effort to stay calm and not let his fear that he had failed some unexpected parental trial show through. It didn't matter that he was only a few steps away, the temptation to run to William was bordering on overpowering.

"Is there something wrong?" Even Will could hear the faint sense of alarm in his voice.

William raised his head, but kept his eyes downcast. "It will sound silly," he warned. "You'll laugh."

"I won't laugh," Will promised, putting his hand over his heart and giving the boy and impish smile.

"I miss Mama," he confessed, sounding more than a little guilty.

Will noticed that William's cheeks were now stained pink with the blush of embarrassment. "I miss her too," he confided as he reached out to stroke William's hair. "And if you're ready to go home, then I certainly won't stop you."

"You won't tell her, will you? She'll say I'm too little to go places with you."

Will crouched down next to William. "If she asks, I'll have to answer. I can't lie to your mother." He tilted William's face towards his and grinned. "Even if I _thought _I could get away with it, I shouldn't do it. However, if it comes to that, I swear I will defend your honor," Will pledged with a puckish twinkle in his eye.

William giggled at his father's display, then turned serious again. "I dreamed that Mama was sad."

_And I dreamed that your grandmother warned me that Elizabeth needed me more than usual right now. _"Is that what prompted this change of schedule?" Will prompted, trying to ascertain why William thought Elizabeth was sad enough to warrant an early return from their first foray together.

William simply nodded.

"Even if this means we can't go looking for the ship we saw last night?" Will offered what he was sure must be a tempting adventure for a boy of William's temperament.

"Even that," William answered firmly.

"Then let's go home," Will said, hugging William to him. It was immediately apparent how different it was to hug William than it had been to hold Jonathan. William felt more solid, his hair and skin were warm from the summer sunshine, and he had his own distinctive smell that at the moment could stand a serious application of soap.

Will returned to his bedroll to begin packing his own gear. As he shook the sand out of the carelessly folded blanked that had served as his pillow, a palm sized fragment of shell spilled out onto the ground. He leaned over to see what it was and froze. Laying in the sand, reflecting the light off of its well polished pale pink and cream colored surface, was the very shell that Jonathan had given him the night before. "_I want Mama to have it so she'll know that I love her." _But that had been a dream, hadn't it?

Will scooped the shell from the sand, carefully wiped the sand from its surface and stored it in his pocket. _Perhaps William dropped it here and I just didn't notice. _He resolved to give the trinket to Elizabeth, but was at a loss as to how to explain it. Surely normal families don't routinely deliver gifts from deceased family members, but for the Turners, it seemed to be standard procedure. "Then again," Will thought, "describing us as normal would be a bit of a stretch."

The last of the supplies had been reloaded, the gang plank retrieved, and the sails set as the pair of Turners began their return from their abbreviated voyage.

Will stood looking out at the water towards home with William at his side. Neither of them had spoken much during the packing process and it seemed as if the silence would continue throughout the entire journey until William broke the calm with a seemingly innocent question.

"Papa, who were you talking to last night?"


	29. Unguarded Secrets

_Unguarded Secrets_

It was only a little past noon when Will and his son returned to Port Royal. The entire return trip had been completed in record time, partly due to favorable winds and weather, partly because of the ease with which he and William were able to dock the ship, but mostly because they were both single mindedly determined to return home as quickly as possible. Making a living from the sea in any way shape or form had not played any significant role along the path Will had planned for his life, but as seemed to be the case more often than not, his life had taken an unexpected detour. He had left Port Royal a newly minted journeyman blacksmith and had returned a respected ship's captain and fledgling shipping magnate, even if he had to search his memory to tell anyone how many ships he owned and what they were called. The truth was that Elizabeth was the proverbial woman behind the successful man in this particular venture. That idea might have bothered a less secure man, but to Will it was just part and parcel of Elizabeth's personality and drive to stretch her capabilities.

At the moment, Will's only concern was how quickly he could return to dry land and the woman he literally couldn't live without. _There are certain advantages to being the_ _proprietor of your own shipping company_, Will thought as Le Cygne glided into the harbor. Because of the number of ships that he and Elizabeth owned, and the frequency of their arrivals and departures, Turner-Castillo Shipping warranted its own section of the docks that filled the shoreline of Port Royal harbor from Fort James to Chocolate Hole. It didn't hurt that Elizabeth's social status, although slightly diminished, but still redoubtable, further influenced the priority awarded the Turner family when it came to prime locations along the wharf.

After the initial shock of discovering exactly how well William could handle a sea going vessel at such a tender age, the return trip allowed Will to do a careful survey of the boy's strengths and weaknesses. Had William been any other man's child, Will's first inclination would have been that the boy would make an excellent sailor one day, perhaps even earning captaincy of his own ship younger than most. William had, on more than one occasion, expressed a desire for exactly that, but Will was not quite so enthusiastic about that idea. It would be impossible to deny that the sea was in William's blood, just as much as it was in his own, but the idea of his eldest, and thus far, only living child could one day leave behind his friends and family for the isolated life of a sailor wasn't exactly appealing. Still, he was exceedingly talented in that area and it did appeal to him—

"Papa, how are we going to get all our gear home without the wagon?" William fretted. "It's too far to carry it and Evan wasn't planning on meeting us here until tomorrow," William pointed out, ever alert to any logistical problems. The ship was now secured in its moorings with the waves gently lapping at its hull, in contrast with the aggressive pummeling they provided at sea. The plank had been laid out, awaiting _Le Cygne's_ crew of two, both anxious to disembark, to be _home_.

"I was wondering about that," Will admitted, although truthfully the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "I think we may have outsmarted ourselves by coming home early," he added wryly. "Cross your fingers that Mr. Davidson is in."

"You're going to make _Mr. Davidson_ help carry stuff?" William asked incredulously, his eyes wide open, trying to picture the normally sedentary factor doing manual labor, most especially in the sticky heat of a Caribbean summer.

"Somehow, I can't imagine that would be much help to us." Will raised an eyebrow at William and stifled a laugh, picturing an image much like the one his son had. "No, I was thinking of asking him to round up a few of the… less fortunate inhabitants in the general vicinity and have them unload in exchange for the leftover food." Will paused for a moment. "Suitably supervised, of course."

William looked at his father with his arms akimbo and a serious look on his face. "You mean the wastrels laying in a gutter somewhere, sleeping off the effects of too much cheap ale?"

Will blinked rapidly a few times as William's words sunk in. "Wherever did you pick up a phrase like _that_ or do I even need to ask?"

"Mama," William answered brightly. "But I'm not sure what a wastrel is," his forehead wrinkled as he searched his memory for a definition, "and I'm pretty sure they drink too much rum," he added proudly. "I know she's called Uncle Captain Jack one a few times."

Will closed his eyes and shook his head. "Rum, ale— once they hit a certain point it doesn't really matter—but yes, that would be exactly who I was talking about. And as for Jack…I can't say it's not entirely untrue. He has been known to ingest excessive amounts of alcoholic beverages—rum in particular."

"Mama does that too," William said as he looked over the side at the water below. "Not the drink rum part," he quickly clarified. "I mean she hires people to work for her, but she pays them in food. She always tells them it's so they won't spend their hard earned coin on ill advised vices."

"Does she now?" Will, with eyes now open, was becoming increasingly amused by William's tale of Elizabeth's efforts to save the self professed dregs of society from themselves. It sounded so very much like the Elizabeth of old. The one he had know before their time with the pirates.

William descended the gang plank with his father close behind. "I don't think it does much good. Besides, she said that would be your job when you got home."

"Did she now? I'm afraid I might have to have a chat with her about that," Will said with mock seriousness.

"Just please don't tell her about me falling in the water when you talk to her about all those other things."

"You know she'll ask, and I told you I won't—_can't _keep secrets from your mother," Will reminded the boy.

"But what if she won't let me go places with you anymore?" William asked solemnly, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. Surely his father understood that this was serious business!

"Then I suppose she and I will have to negotiate on that point." Will reached forward, ruffled William's hair and left his hand on top of the boy's head as he followed him down the pier. "There are two of us to look after you now. I have a feeling that means she'll be a bit less strict with you now and leave some of the decisions to me," Will offered.

William reached up and covered his father's hand with his own. "I hope so. She won't let me do anything fun by myself."

Will moved his hands to William's shoulders and stopped him mid-step, but did not turn him around. The fear that William would be able to see the regret on his face was too great of a risk to take. "William, you can't blame your mother for that. Sometimes parents can keep you too close because they're afraid of losing you. I would have done the same had things been reversed." _I did do the same, just not with you._

William nodded his head and started walking again. "How are you going to tell her? That I'm old enough to do things on my own, I mean." He asked curiously.

"I have no idea. I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Parley?" William spun around to face his father, a huge grin on his face.

The expression on Will's face mirrored that of his son. "That sounds like an excellent suggestion," he laughed at the idea of negotiating with Elizabeth over how much freedom their son should be allowed. "Parley it shall be. Now let's go home. We need to get cleaned up or your mother may very well not allow us across the threshold. "

______________________________________________________________________________

William ran ahead of his father, pushed open the garden gate and dashed across the yard, making a beeline for the kitchen and whatever it was that Miss Mary was cooking. By the time Will made it that far, William was already perched on a stool next to Miss Mary's worktable, chewing contentedly on a slab of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, slathered with butter and dripping with honey.

"Growing boy," Mary Lansford explained, handing an identical chunk of bread to Will. "They're impossible to fill up." She raised one eyebrow and directed her gaze towards Will who was now enjoying his own mid-afternoon snack, although with somewhat more restrained enthusiasm than his son.

Will grinned sheepishly. "He does take after me in many respects, doesn't he?"

Mary raised both eyebrows, feigning shock at Will's confession of the perfectly obvious, then returned to her normal impassive expression. "Have you seen Miss Elizabeth yet?" Mary asked, her voice mostly calm, but with an undercurrent of concern that Will caught immediately.

Will examined Mary's expression then remembered how hard it had always been, and ostensibly still was, to tell what she was thinking just from the look on her face. The key to unraveling Mary's intent was to listen to her voice. "No, we've only just arrived," he replied cautiously. He watched her carefully, trying to discern even the vaguest hint of what prompted the cook's timing with the question, but that proved to be a wasted effort on his part. The only semblance of a clue he had was knowing that she was standing in full view of the side garden and had to know that neither he nor William had been in the house yet. _She's worried about Elizabeth, but why?_

Mary turned and picked up an unadorned earthenware bowl from the counter behind her. "William, do you think you might be able to find a dog that might like this bowl of meat scraps? I hear tell of one around here. Then again, from the description of its size, it might be a monster." She passed the bowl across the work table to William. "A big. Black. Very. Hairy. Monster at that," she pronounced her words with great care, making herself sound a little frightened as she did.

William finished chewing his last bite of bread. "Brigand's _not_ a monster," William retorted with a snort, accepting the bowl from Miss Mary as he slid off of the stool.

Mary sighed. "If you insist, but I'm still not convinced. Either way, I'm sure he's hungry and would love nothing better than to know his boy is home."

"That sounds like an excellent suggestion," Will agreed, steering William towards the back door of the kitchen. "Why don't you go feed the dog and maybe play with him a bit before you bathe? I want to go talk to your mother—alone."

"You just want to spend some time kissing her without me around," William said in a lilting taunt with a roll of his eyes as he sauntered out the door, bowl of scraps in hand, to look for his dog.

"That too," his father answered, barely controlling his amusement. "Trust me, one day that will all make sense to you." Will turned back to Miss Mary, who stood looking at him with a raised eyebrow and her lips pressed firmly together. She only managed to hold her look of disapproval for a few moments, before she too started to laugh.

"I think you got exactly what you deserved for a son. He's going to keep you on your toes."

"He already does."Will cast one look back at the door that William had recently exited, then turned back to Mary, "It's his mother's influence, I'm sure," he said innocently.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Mary warned knowingly.

"What's wrong with Elizabeth?" Will blurted out, hardly giving William enough time to get out of earshot.

Mary wiped her already clean hands on her apron. It was a habit she'd had for as long as Will could remember knowing her—one that meant she was either not as in control of a situation as she would have liked, or that she was still missing a vital piece of information to fully understand something that truly mattered to her. "I don't think there's anything wrong, per se, but I do know that her visit with Mrs. Brantley was far more traumatic than anyone would have anticipated." Mary watched Will closely, looking for any reaction that might give her some more insight into Elizabeth's reaction to the events of the previous day.

Will tensed at Mary's words. "Traumatic?" he asked, putting in a concerted effort to keep his voice calm. _What had Estrella said or done to upset Elizabeth? _"What…?"

"Don't fash yourself Will. Miss Elizabeth is mostly just tired, I think." She resumed her place at the work table where she picked up a paring knife and began to swiftly peel parsnips. "And a bit distressed over what happened, but that's understandable." Mary knew that Will was capable of controlling his emotions almost frighteningly well, but she chanced that concern for his wife would cause him to slip. The depth of Elizabeth's despair over Estrella's misfortune was out of character for her normally calm, controlled demeanor. The most logical explanation for that was to assume that Elizabeth had suffered a similar experience. _But when? And how? Surely either she or Will would have mentioned it if there had been another child. Unless…_

"I can tell by the tone of your voice that whatever has you so concerned is the result of more than just a long day," Will ventured. "She's didn't…she's not ill, is she?" he asked, remembering his mother's words that his wife was going to need his support more than was accustomed in the coming days. _She was acting a bit unusual yesterday. _

"No," Mary responded a bit too quickly. "She's not ill, not at all." With a shake of her head she began rearranging the bowls and platters on her work table. "Mrs. Brantley had her baby yesterday," she blurted out. "She died," she added softly.

"Estrella?" Will sounded panicked.

"No…no,no," Mary reassured him. "The baby, not Mrs. Brantley. Although there is some concern about her well being also. It was an extremely difficult delivery. Elizabeth stayed with her through all of it and only returned home a few short hours ago. Mercedes just left to go stay with her, Mrs. Brantley, for the rest of the afternoon and tonight."

Will's face went momentarily white beneath his tan, but managed to recover quickly. "I didn't think she was due for several more weeks," Will commented softly while memories of another baby who didn't survive flooded into his mind. _Elizabeth was already worried that it could happen to us again. She didn't need such a bold reminder of that possibility. _

"She wasn't. The baby came too soon. It—_she_ –didn't have much of a chance."

Will nodded absently, his mind somewhere else entirely. _She needed me and I wasn't here. _

"Will? I realize this is none of my concern and it isn't my place to ask, but Miss Elizabeth's reaction to all of this—after she came home today—has me concerned," Mary was hesitant to broach the subject, but she was truly concerned. She may have initially taken it upon herself to watch over Elizabeth for Will's sake, but she had grown quite fond of her in the meantime and was therefore worried, and rightfully so.

"In what respect…? You know you can ask me anything," he smiled meekly, fearing what was coming. _Please don't push for too many details. _"I shared with you where I was for all of those years, what could be more personal than that?" Will looked over Mary's head and out of the window in an attempt to avoid her eyes, but tried to make his voice sound as if this were just any ordinary casual conversation.

Miss Mary sighed heavily, not knowing how to proceed, before deciding there was really no point in not taking a direct approach. "William's not your only child, is he? Elizabeth miscarried or lost a child at birth, didn't she?" Mary barely caught Will's almost imperceptible nod as the color drained from his face.

"His name was Jonathan. He would be five now. I never saw him alive," Will said, hardly above a whisper. _Not what _you_ would think of as alive._ His eyes shone with sudden unshed tears. _Mama, I think I understand now._

Mary approached Will and placed one reassuring hand on his cheek, much the same as his mother had done when he was a young child, and much the same as Mary herself had done when he first came to Port Royal as an orphan. "I thought as much. Living apart, I'm sure the two of you never had the chance to grieve properly. It's not the kind of thing you should go through alone, and sadly I speak with the voice of experience," Mary smiled faintly at him as he lowered his gaze to hers. "Go to her. _You _are what she needs right now."

Will stared into Mary's eyes for a moment, wondering how it was that she had echoed his mother's words so accurately. He drew in a deep breath and nodded his head before leaving the kitchen and making his way to the main house through the open doors leading to the dining room and across to the landing leading to his and Elizabeth's bedroom. He paused for a long time at the foot of the staircase, staring up at the door just beyond the head of the stairs. He was keenly aware that he needed to go to Elizabeth—he _wanted _to go to her— but he had erroneously assumed that he would have more time to plan how he would explain to his wife what had happened to him at the salt ponds and to tell her the truth about the fate of their second son. Logically, he knew he should have expected the opportune moment to arise shortly after his return from their outing, but emotionally, he was still gathering his reserves to deal with what surely would be a heart-breaking and agonizing revelation.

He reluctantly ascended the steps, having decided there was no true option other than to face things head on. His mother had been right, as had Miss Mary, he and Elizabeth had never had the chance to grieve for their loss. It was rare for them to even mention Jonathan to each other, much less share their hurt. On some level, Will had always known that they had just been delaying the inevitable. It wasn't as if they could or even wanted to forget William's brother. It was just that neither one of them felt strong enough to deal with that heart ache, their separation having already taxed their emotional reserves.

Will had been long aware that Elizabeth had escalated her efforts to clear their names almost the instant she recovered from the baby's difficult delivery. Had she not been so relentless in her pursuits, they may very well have still been on the run more than a decade after the hunt for them had begun. Her struggle to regain at least part of what she had lost regarding her family name, her heritage and her inheritance along with clearing Will's own name—that she now proudly shared— had paid off…, but at what cost?

With one hand placed flat on the wooden surface of the door, Will gently pressed the handle and silently pushed it open. The room was dark, or at least, as dark as it could be made during the day. Even so, it was still oppressively hot, with not so much as a breeze trickling in from the open windows. Elizabeth was lying on the bed, face buried in a pillow—_hi s_ pillow—with her back to Will. She still wore the same simple skirt and blouse she had been wearing when he had last seen her the day before. Her legs were curled up just enough to expose her bare feet. Even when Will stepped through the door then closed it with a barely audible snick of the handle, Elizabeth did not move. Will could only assume that she was hard, fast asleep, otherwise, he was sure that she would have acknowledged his entrance. He stood there with his back leaning against the door for several long minutes just watching his wife sleep. It was a simple luxury, so often taken for granted, that he had been denied. A part of him pushed to awaken her and tell her of his dream that was not a dream. If there were consequences to be faced, he wanted to confront them as quickly as possible. His mother and now Miss Mary had made it clear that he and Elizabeth needed to reckon with their long ago loss and long delayed grief. Yet there was another part of him that was terrified of how Elizabeth would react. He had, albeit unwittingly, broken a promise they had made to each other –that they would no longer keep secrets from each other.

Will straightened up, quietly removed his shoes and socks, and padded silently across the room to the wardrobe, discarded footwear in hand which he then placed quietly on the floor. He shrugged off the well worn leather coat he was wearing and returned it to its proper place in the heavy mahogany wardrobe that held all his worldly possessions. He started to close the door, then hesitated, and removed the heart shaped shell fragment from his coat pocket before pushing the door the rest of the way closed. He stared wistfully at the lone tangible reminder of his all too brief encounter and farewell with his youngest son.

"I missed you," said a barely audible, sleep and tear abraded voice from across the room.

Will smiled softly and continued to turn the shell over in his hands. "I was only gone for a day," he replied with just a hint of mirth in his voice.

Elizabeth sighed deeply. "That doesn't change anything. I still missed you."

"I missed you too," he confessed, turning his head to see Elizabeth still lying on the bed, but now with one arm outstretched towards him, beckoning him to come to her. Will cautiously approached the bed with the now forgotten shell still in his hand. As he approached, the ravages of Elizabeth's last twenty-four hours became startlingly clear. The dark circles beneath her eyes stood out in sharp contrast to the normal ivory perfection of her face. Will felt a twinge of guilt over the fact that she had needed him and he had not been there. _You're going to_ _have to face your own frailties_. Meg's words echoed in Will's memory. He took the hand that Elizabeth offered in his own and carelessly dropped the shell onto the night stand.

"Would you stay here with me for a while?" Elizabeth asked, almost timidly.

"I'm afraid that at the moment I don't meet with your exacting standards concerning personal hygiene. William and I just returned a few minutes ago," Will pointed out in an attempt to elicit a smile from his obviously despondent wife.

The smile he earned was very faint and seemingly forced. "I think I can grant you a temporary abeyance," she announced in a rather formal manner.

Will eased himself onto the mattress facing Elizabeth. He rested his head on his left arm and ran the fingers of his right hand down the curve of her jaw from her ear to her chin, and then moved his arm to wrap cautiously around her waist. Elizabeth had yet to open her eyes, but took the opportunity to tuck herself neatly into her husband's embrace. The hand that she had used earlier to summon him to her side now rested flat on Will's chest, directly over his heart. Will had quickly learned that there were normally only two reasons for that particular and increasingly familiar gesture on Elizabeth's part. He immediately recognized this instance for what it was. Whatever was bothering Elizabeth went beyond lack of sleep and heartache for a friend's misfortune. Even the least attentive of husbands should have been able to identify the source of his wife's sorrow under conditions such as this.

"Miss Mary told me about Estrella," Will murmured, struggling to hold his voice steady—not from Estrella's loss, but from the memory of their own— then kissed the top of Elizabeth's head. "The baby was too early, wasn't it?"

Will felt the slight movement of Elizabeth nodding her head against his chest. "She named her Esperanza," Elizabeth shared with him as new tears threatened to fall.

"That's a pretty name." Will began to lightly rub Elizabeth's back in an effort to console her.

"She said it means hope. After all she's been through she's still able to focus on the future."

"I imagine it will be difficult for her losing her husband and her daughter in less than six months time," Will observed.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Thomas isn't dead. She left—ran away—from him." Elizabeth pushed away from Will just enough so that she could see his face. "He beat her, he forced himself on her, he killed one of their children, he…he…he," Elizabeth started to stammer as her anger at Thomas Brantley renewed itself. "I don't care what the laws say. Just because they're married doesn't give him the right to abuse her like that. I'll do what I must to help her." Elizabeth's voice grew stronger as her customary sense of righteousness returned with a vengeance.

"I knew something wasn't quite right with her story, but I would never have thought that." Will pressed his lips together in a grimace. "Thomas was a rather memorable character around Port Royal in those days. I can honestly say that I had no use for him whatsoever." Will exhaled sharply. "I think—no, I'm sure—that if he had died at sea that I would have remembered ferrying him. If any man has ever earned his place in hell, Thomas Brantley would be him without a doubt." _And I would have happily escorted him there given the chance even without knowing this._

Elizabeth gave Will a feeble smile. "That's because you would never do something like that." She eased her left hand up from his chest to rest lightly on his neck. "And I remember very well what Thomas was like. I suppose I'm appalled, but not shocked?" She added as if looking for reassurance.

Will smiled back. "True, I would never think of doing anything remotely like what you described, but it fits in with Thomas' temperament so I can't say as I'm surprised." Will dipped his head and kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "We'll protect her as best we are able. I think we owe her that much," he added mischievously.

"Do we now?" Elizabeth asked with mock innocence as she tilted her head back to kiss Will's mouth. "Just because she served as a look out." She kissed his chin. "And provided more than one alibi for where we had been." She kissed the hollow of his throat. "You think we owe her for that?"

"I was _right_!" William blurted out, pushing the door open and entering the room. "You didn't want to talk to Mama, you just wanted to kiss her," he proclaimed, interrupting an affectionate, but not overly amorous display.

Will pulled back from Elizabeth. "I don't recall denying your accusation," he pointed out in his defense, while stifling a laugh. "And just to clarify: she was kissing me."

"Did I miss something?" Elizabeth asked in a confused tone, but with a genuine smile on her face now. She reluctantly pushed herself away from Will and into an upright position, barely in time to catch her son in an embrace as he launched himself onto the bed.

"Mama," William said worriedly. "Are you sick?"

"No," Elizabeth replied, pushing her son's hair out of his face. "I'm just tired. I imagine that you are too, after your adventure."

"No ma'am," he announced confidently. "Well…maybe a little. Did Papa tell you that I fell into the water? But I'm fine. He didn't have to rescue me and nothing bad happened even if it was the ocean. Calypso didn't try to drown me or anything. It still counts if it's in the bay, right? And about the ship we saw? I don't think it was pirates— or at least not any that we know—but it disappeared, and I only asked to come home early because I thought you were sad and not because I was scared. Papa doesn't sing as well as you do. Did you know he talks in his sleep?" William blurted out excitedly, seemingly in one breath.

"Actually, no, I didn't tell her anything yet, but I think you just hit on all of the highlights," Will pointed out. "And since you started, I think I'll just lay back and let you do all the explaining," he added, making a show of plumping up a pillow and getting comfortable.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow curiously and looked from one William Turner to the other. "An explanation would definitely be in order right about now. Why don't we start with falling into the ocean?"

Will could hear the well disguised alarm in Elizabeth's voice, even if William was oblivious to it. He raised himself up on his elbows and gave William a hard look, softened by the hint of amusement in his voice. "He slipped on the end of the gangplank. There wasn't actually much falling into anything involved." He turned his head towards Elizabeth. "_You_ know that you have to wade ashore there. I certainly wasn't about to carry him."

"You carried me," Elizabeth said slyly, offering her husband a look that matched her voice.

"_Not _the same thing at all," Will countered, noticing the twinkle of devilry in her eyes.

"It wasn't really deep at all," William interjected, trying to come to his father's defense while being blissfully unaware that his parents were shamelessly flirting with each other.

Elizabeth licked her lips, her eyes still locked with Will's. "You obviously survived the ordeal, so I suppose that means no harm done." She turned her face towards William, reluctantly tearing herself away from the somewhat tempting suggestion shining in Will's eyes. "I believe you also mentioned a ship?"

William nodded solemnly. "I'm sure it wasn't pirates," he said with confidence. "Right, Papa?"

Will knew, before Elizabeth fixed him with a steely gaze, what she was planning to ask. Not seeing any point in delaying the inevitable, he offered his own explanation. "I'm almost _positive_ that he's right on that count," he confirmed with a nod towards William. "They came in dark, but no one raised an alarm at the fort. I'm assuming that means they recognized the ship itself. I can't imagine anyone could see her flag." Will shrugged off the incident like it was of little to no significance, knowing that while William might fall for his bluff, Elizabeth would see right through it. Likewise, he knew she could tell that he had no further information other than what he had already offered much less a feasible explanation.

"I see," Elizabeth said curtly, effectively discouraging any additional discussion on that topic or at least any more familial discussion.

Will was sure that he would be pressed to repeat what few scant details he had until Elizabeth was satisfied that she had covered all possible angles. Her natural tendency to evaluate every situation had only been exacerbated by her experiences and responsibilities over the past ten years or more. "Before this tale goes any further might I point out that _I _am _not_ the one who let it slip that it was _your _idea to come home a day early," Will announced righteously, staring intensely, but playfully at his son for a several seconds before returning to his earlier prone position. He clasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles, and settled back into his spot on the bed, signaling his refusal to take any blame for William's slip of the tongue _or_ slip from the gangway.

"Papa!" William giggled. "You promised!"

"_I _promised not to tell your mother unless she asked and then to argue your case if she didn't believe your story," Will teased.

"Well, _I _happen to know that both of you are mistaken," Elizabeth announced smugly.

"Is that so?" Will queried. "I can hardly wait to hear where we went wrong." He fought to control a laugh. He was sincerely pleased to note that William's arrival had apparently snapped Elizabeth out of her despondency.

"I _wished_ you back early." Elizabeth kept her voice low as if she was revealing a well-kept secret.

William looked at his mother with confusion and disbelief. "Can you _do _that?"

"Of course!" She replied with all seriousness. "It's a special talent that I've always had. I wanted you to come home today and you did. What other proof do you need?"

"Oh really?" Will couldn't keep from laughing this time. "Have I ever been the victim— excuse me— recipient of this wondrously hidden and previously unknown talent of yours?"

Elizabeth leaned over so that her face was inches from Will's. "I married you just like I had always wanted, now didn't I?"

"So it would seem." Will reached up and put one hand behind Elizabeth's neck, then rose up just enough to lightly kiss her on the mouth.

"Not _again_," William moaned.

"Get used to it," his father said. "This is how things work around here."

Elizabeth pulled back from Will, eyes narrowed, shaking her head at Will's words. She then redirected her attention to William. "As for the rest of the story, I could have told you that your father can't sing very well, even if _someone_ told you otherwise." _Just wait until I see Jack Sparrow again…_

"It's not _that_ bad," Will defended himself with mock indignity. "It's more like—"

"Yes, it is and we didn't ask you," Elizabeth interjected, as she cast her husband a flippant look. Turning back to William before Will could offer an appropriate retort, she added, "And I could have told you that he talks in his sleep too. Actually, it's more like mumbling than talking. It took some getting used to—"she shrugged noncommittally.

"I most certainly do not!" Will sat up and glared at his wife and son, but with enough of a smile on his face for them to know that he was not truly angry. "I think I'm being falsely accused."

"How would you know?" Elizabeth asked blithely. "You're asleep when you do it."

"He wasn't mumbling. He was having an entire conversation with someone," William clarified. "Or maybe there were two people. I'm not sure."

Elizabeth felt Will tense beside her. He clearly knew what William was referring to and it was quite obviously not a simple case of Will talking—or mumbling— in his sleep. She noticed out of the corner of her eye, that Will had turned his face away from them, pulled his knees up to his chest, and was now pretending to stare at something across the room. Whatever had happened, he apparently didn't want to discuss it with William. She was sure that he would share with her, but only when he was ready. Will had never been— nor ever would be— the kind of man who could be pushed into doing something when he didn't want to.

"William," Will said quietly, still staring intently at nothing. "I really _do_ need to talk to your mother." He wrapped his arms around his knees and looked at the boy sitting on the far side of the bed. He suddenly wished that he could delay the explanation that he owed Elizabeth and continue the light hearted banter between the three of them, but there was nothing to be gained from waiting and much to lose if he procrastinated.

Elizabeth picked up on the faint tinge of urgency that colored Will's voice. She reached over to William and rested one hand on his cheek. "Your father is right. He and I do need to discuss some things." She leaned forward and made a show out of inhaling deeply in William's general direction. "I think you, sir, need to go have a bath," she ordered, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

William scowled at his mother. "Are you going to make Papa take a bath too? Doesn't he smell bad too?"

Will raised a questioning eyebrow at his son's audacity. "That may well be, but I was granted a stay."

"And I believe I said that was only _temporary_?" She reminded him without taking her attention away from their son. Elizabeth knew that if she didn't call a halt to the discussion between the two most important men in her life right then and there, that they would continue to tease and pick at each other for an eternity. Besides, she was anxious to learn why Will had been so quick to direct the conversation away from what he might have said in his sleep. "And that still means that you need to go take a bath." She leaned forward and kissed William on the forehead. "_Now,_" she added for emphasis.

"Yes, ma'am," William said as he crawled off the bed and made his way to the door.

Elizabeth followed him with her eyes until he left the room and closed the door securely. She then turned towards Will, who still had his face turned to the wall, leaned down and kissed his shoulder. "Did you have another nightmare?" she asked hardly above a whisper.

"Nothing quite so mundane," Will sighed. "He was telling the truth, even if he doesn't quite know what the truth is."

"Does it have something to do with the ship you saw?"

"No. There isn't anything else I can tell you about that except that it looked familiar even if I didn't recognize it." Will exhaled sharply. "That makes no sense I know, but that's the only way I can explain it."

"If it's something that you don't want to talk about, I do understand," Elizabeth offered, suddenly feeling a need to console Will.

"No. I have to. I _need_ to." He stretched back out on the bed as he had earlier and lay there quietly for a few moments, then rolled to his side so that he was looking at Elizabeth, but could not see her face. "I saw my mother. That's who he heard me talking to— or at least that's _one_ of the people he heard me talking to. She said he wouldn't wake up while she was there. I assumed that meant he couldn't hear her either. I actually don't know if he _did _hear her or just me. I thought I had dreamed all of it until he asked me this morning who I had been talking to."

"Will, if—" Elizabeth cut off her own sentence knowing that Will would once again tell her that he had to explain the events of the previous evening to her. She slid back down on to the bed and rolled to face Will. _No secrets. We promised each other that long ago. I know that's what he would say even if I offer him a respite from sharing just this once._

Will moved his left arm to wrap around Elizabeth's shoulders and pull her closer to him. Elizabeth willingly obliged and nestled herself against his side. "She said you needed me."

"I always need you," Elizabeth said in an attempt to lighten Will's mood. She didn't miss the shadow of a smile that flickered across his face.

"Not…" Will stopped to collect his thoughts. "I don't know how to explain this."

"You don't have to." Again, she knew what his response would be.

"Yes. I do." He raised up just enough to reach the shell he had dropped on the night table. "Elizabeth, I've been keeping a secret from you that I didn't even know I had. I obviously didn't do it on purpose. It just happened, but it kept us from dealing with something we thought to painful to face."

"Will, you're scaring me." Elizabeth's voice trembled as she spoke. _What could be more painful that what we've already been through? _

"This is for you," he said calmly, turning it in his hand so that the light reflected pink and gold off of its finely polished surface.

"It almost looks like a heart." Elizabeth struggled to understand how a broken albeit beautiful shell fragment could possibly relate to Will's still unknown secret. She reached over and ran her index finger over its smooth interior which gave it the appearance of being made of candle wax. "Is this to replace the one that I had to give back?" she asked in a vain attempt to lighten the situation.

Will exhaled sharply in response to her question. "That one still belongs to you. That will never change." He handed her the shell. "We just keep it in a more appropriate…receptacle now."

Elizabeth noticed the most miniscule suggestion of Will's familiar lopsided grin as she spoke. "Then I thank you very kindly for your gift. It was quite thoughtful of you," she commented with over exaggerated formality.

"It's not from me. It's from your son." Will shifted to also wrap his right arm around his wife .

Elizabeth smiled at some memory that Will could never share. "He's always done that. Brought me little treasures he had found. I regret that most of them have been left behind at some point."

Will released his grasp on Elizabeth's waist, put one finger under Elizabeth's chin and lifted her face to him. "Not William," he said, fighting to control the emotion in his tone. "Our other son."

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. Will heard her sudden intake of breath followed by the strangled sound of a repressed sob. Her lips trembled as the first of the tears she was fighting so valiantly to restrain seeped from beneath her eyelashes. "How?" She asked, her voice strained with long repressed grief. Elizabeth's eyes immediately filled with tears that she was unable to control any longer.

Elizabeth reopened her eyes as Will kissed her tenderly on her forehead. "That's the other person William thought I was talking to. I saw him last night too."

Elizabeth forced a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I can't imagine he's much of a conversationalist. He would only just have turned five." She remembered the types of conversations she and William had when he was that age. _Mama, I want to grow a raisin tree. What happens if you run out of hugs? Do butterflies really make butter?_

"In some respects he is only five, but in others he's wise beyond his years."

"I still don't understand how that's even possible." Elizabeth's eyes suddenly opened in alarm and unrestrained panic set in. _Don't leave me. I need you. _"Oh, God, please no," she stammered and began to cry more fervently. _We did what was demanded of us._ "I can't…I can't lose you again," she choked out. _I don't know if I can survive without him._

Will pulled her closer to him and tucked her head beneath his chin. "No, not that. I'm not going anywhere," he said soothingly. "I'm free of any ties I had to the land of the dead, least _most_ of them anyway. My mother said that I can still see those who haven't moved on because I am… I _was _one of them. I won't ever leave you again. I promise." Will took his hand from her face and rubbed her back to try to calm her already frayed nerves before he continued. "Elizabeth, this is the part that will be difficult for me to explain. About Jonathan that is. It's what I kept from you without meaning to."

Elizabeth nodded as best she could in the confines of Will's embrace. "He was perfect," she hiccupped around her tears.

"Yes, he was," Will agreed. "Do you remember when we saw your father in the locker? Do you remember that he wasn't sure he was dead?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with Jonathan?" Elizabeth's head was beginning to ache from all the stress. _I always lose those I care about the most. _

"Your father still acted and reacted like a living, breathing person, but he wasn't."

"It would be impossible for me to forget, but I still don't understand what my father's…_condition_ has to do with Jonathan." _My father was murdered. Am I to blame for Jonathan's death? Is that how they're related?_

"When I took him back to the _Dutchman _with me, it was as if everything was as it should be. I was terrified at first. I thought I had taken him across by mistake. Eventually, Bootstrap took him from me because I couldn't bring myself to let him go on. That's one of the few times I can remember him being more of a parent than a crew member." Will stopped to reorganize his thoughts. "I'm not sure exactly how it works, but I knew that some souls could choose to wait until someone they loved makes that final journey and they make their final crossing together—through that veil I couldn't see past. I assumed that's what Jonathan had chosen to do—wait for you."

Will paused to gently push Elizabeth just far enough that he could see her face. She had her eyes cemented shut, and her face had lost all of its normal color. He waited a moment to allow her time to question him if she wanted, but she remained perfectly quiet.

"Now that I think back on it, I think I always knew that wasn't possible. How can an infant make a choice like that? But I allowed myself to believe it because it suited my purposes and kept me from thinking about what I had really done," he continued. The longer he spoke, the less difficult it became for him to retell his story.

"Suited your purposes? I don't understand," Elizabeth mumbled almost incoherently.

"I watched him grow up, Elizabeth. I resented that I had missed so much of William's childhood and was only half way through my obligation. My own selfish desires kept him from moving on like he should have. _That _is how I was still able to see him, talk to him, hug him, everything I couldn't do with William."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and stared into Will's with an uncertain expression on her face. "Is he still waiting? Will you see him again?" she asked hesitantly. _I'm not sure if I could bear it. _

"No. He's not and I won't until it's my turn. That's why my mother came to me last night; to tell me that I had to let him go, that it was time for me to face what I had allowed to happen and that until I did, neither of us would be able to grow and change like we need to in order to be a family. We have to work together for that to happen and for now it's accepting what happened with Jonathan."

"Your mother must have been a very wise woman," Elizabeth commented gracefully. _And I owe her for laying the groundwork for you to become the man that you are._

"When you're ten, maybe as old as twelve, you think your mother knows everything," Will added. _She didn't live long enough for me to learn any different._

"And I've taken every advantage of that possible. It won't be long before William thinks he knows everything," Elizabeth sighed sadly. "Besides, you're not ten anymore."

"For which I am grateful," he confessed. "I find that there are far more _intriguing_ things for us to do now than when we were twelve." His eyes and smile suggested what those activities might be. "For all intents and purposes, you and I are starting from the beginning again."

"Except for the fact that we already have an overly inquisitive nine-year old shadowing our every move," Elizabeth pointed out, a sparkle of humor finally reappearing in her voice. "That might possibly add more danger than intrigue."

"There is that," Will laughed.

Elizabeth held up the shell heart and looked at it instead of Will. "Did you let him?"

"Jonathan? Yes, I let him go. It hurt to know he was leaving, but I know that I would have been doing him an injustice by forcing him to stay. And there's nothing keeping me from William now," Will sounded relieved just to say it out loud. "Besides, there's always the possibility of someone else to love and care for."

Elizabeth kept her facial expressions passive, but her heart was leaping with joy at the thought. _If only I were sure…_"As frightening as last night was with Estrella and with all the painful memories that resurfaced, that's something I still very much want. Elizabeth turned her face back to Will's and brushed her lips against his. "You taste of honey," she commented before partaking of another sample.

"Mmm," Will mumbled incomprehensibly. "I stopped by the kitchen first. It's baking day."

"You may have to do that more often. I rather like the results," Elizabeth said against his lips.

"As you wish," he agreed.

"Will, what was…no, what _is _he like?" Elizabeth bravely inquired, not entirely sure how she would react to the answer.

Will smiled at the memory of the little boy that only he had known. "He looks much more like you than William does. His hair is curlier than William's, but much lighter, almost blond, but not quite. Maybe a shade darker than yours? He has pale blue eyes and…"

"Those must be a gift from his grandfather Turner," Elizabeth interjected, sounding content to hear of the son she had lost. _He looks like I imagined._

"Yes, they're the same as Bootstrap's. He has your smile," Will pointed out. "I think he would have been taller than William, but thin too. William seems…" Will searched for an appropriate adjective. "Sturdier," he offered confidently. "And most importantly, he knows you and he loves you very much." Will suddenly fell silent.

"Is something wrong?" asked Elizabeth, concerned as always for Will just as much as she ever was for William.

"I just realized that by keeping him from moving on, I forced him to know _of _you, but not actually know you." Will looked puzzled. "I'm not sure if I'm explaining that like I want."

"No, I'm sure that what you did had nothing to do with that. Don't forget that I carried him for nearly nine months. I'm sure he knew me rather well by the end of that." Elizabeth said smugly. _As I knew him._

"I never thought of it like that," Will mused.

Elizabeth sighed dramatically. "Men don't think like that. They only supply half of the raw materials and then leave the women to do all the work."

Will rolled his eyes at Elizabeth. "Should we be fortunate enough to have more children, I want to be there for everything."

"I'm sure you may want to rethink that wish later…should the opportunity arise." Elizabeth hoped Will didn't notice her verbal stumble. She wasn't sure herself that she was pregnant so there was no point in disappointing both of them if she was wrong. "It's not a pretty sight." _But what I wouldn't give for him to be there to see his child—our child—come into this world._

"Elizabeth, I've had my still beating heart carved out of my chest, by my own father, using a rather dull knife," he deadpanned. "I think I can handle pretty much anything now. "

Elizabeth playfully punched Will's arm, then grew serious. "What if I lose another baby? It happens. Estrella had no warning that something was wrong and look what happened. Maybe I can't have any more after what I went through with Jonathan."

"That was an accident and you know it. It's not like you sailed into a battle almost nine months gone just because you felt like it. It just happened and we're left to pay the price for it," he said bitterly. _It was one more hurdle towards our happiness._

Elizabeth knew his anger was not directed at her, but at the agents of the East India Trading Company that had relentlessly pursued her for so long. "Will, in my saner moments, I can think about what happened and know that it was the catalyst I needed to take action to clear our names. I think that up to that point I was still just marking the days until you came back. It took me all of those first five years to regain all of my spirit so to speak. But it doesn't take away from the sadness. Emotions are stronger than reason. We should both know that by now."

"It shouldn't. Take away from the sadness, I mean. In any case, it's all behind us now, we need to let the sorrow stay there, but keep the happy memories—you have to admit that there were some—and move forward."

"There _were_ more than a few moments when I could forget how much longer we would be apart," Elizabeth admitted. "You're right."_And I never once regretted my choice._

"As always," Will teased.

"As _most _of the time," she shot back with a giggle. "Will, don't feel guilty about what you did with Jonathan. It's almost a relief, in a way, for me to know that."

"How so?"

"I had William all to myself. It hurt to think that you would never see his first step, hear his first word, experience the joy that is teething…I know things had to have been a bit…_different _with how Jonathan grew, but I'm happy to know that you were able to experience at least a little of it. I suppose what I'm saying is that I have a part of William that you will never know and you have a part of Jonathan that I can never know. It's not entirely fair, but it is what it is. Just knowing that he made it possible for you to experience some of what you missed with William makes losing him easier to bear."

"I think I understand what you mean," Will concluded. He reached up to put one hand on the back of Elizabeth's head and pulled her in for a far more serious kiss than any they had shared since he and William had returned home.

"Will," Elizabeth mumbled against his lips. "Your son was right. You need a bath too."

Will broke off the kiss only momentarily to answer. "Does this mean my stay has expired?" He delicately kissed the corners of her mouth.

Elizabeth arched her head back, encouraging Will to pursue his current endeavor other places, but with a caveat. "I know you well, Will Turner. Don't ever forget that. And I know where this could lead—I'm not complaining about that— but not as filthy as you are now. In short, you stink."

Will kissed the sensitive spot just behind Elizabeth's ear eliciting a faint moan from her. "You never complained about that before." He continued to trail kisses down her neck. "I smell like the sea. That's what you used to say."

Elizabeth gathered her wits before things progressed to the point of no return and pushed Will from her. "Yes, but add to that dead fish, sweat, wood smoke and what I'm sure must be pond muck or bilge water or something equally disgusting and it's not a very appealing combination."

Will looked at her quizzically for a moment. "You're right…as always," he laughed as he rolled off the bed.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him.

Will grinned at her, the tip of his tongue barely visible between his teeth. He put both hands on the mattress, leaned forward and quickly bussed her. "Until later?" He asked.

"Until later," she agreed.


End file.
